


Bedroom Factotum

by Rowen_Berendt



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Complete, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowen_Berendt/pseuds/Rowen_Berendt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto has many roles in Jack's bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bed of Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: slash, homosexual sex, obscene language and mature themes.   
> Disclaimer: Torchwood and all its characters belong to Rusell T Davies and BBC, I make no money from this or any story, and they are purely a recreational hobby for fun.   
> Additional warning: English is not my first language, all mistakes are my own.   
> I accept comments of any kind, just let me know what you think about the story.

Bedroom Factotum

Chapter 1: Bed of Lies

Ianto can tell who Jack is thinking of by the way the captain fucks him. He thinks he should be used to it by now. He shouldn't care it is just sex, right? But even if it’s just sex it’d be nice to be acknowledged as a participant in the act. For as often as they shag, Jack barely ever recognizes Ianto as his bed partner, as the one he is thrusting into. No, Jack is always someplace else imagining that the one wriggling and writhing under him is not, actually, Ianto. Throughout the long months together and frequency of their shagging the tea boy has learned to read the 51st century captain in bed as good as he does in work.

He can tell who the person is that Jack is fucking in his mind, even before the older man whispers the name of his imagined sex partner. For instance the most frequent of Jack's sexual fantasy, is "The Doctor". Ianto was not surprised there, after all the captain has spent the last 100 odd years waiting for the man. The Welshman knows Jack is thinking of The Doctor because there is desperation, a sort of longing that takes over him. And he takes Ianto in a frenzy of paradoxical tenderness, as if afraid he would disappear mid coitus. Like he is making love with a long lost lover, which might as well be the case.

When Jack gasped Gwen's name for the first time - as hot as their shagging was and despite how close he had been to cumming- Ianto lost his erection all together. He didn't know if he was hurt or angry, and instead of thinking further of it he decided to remain at the stage of annoyed surprise. Later after hours of lying awake Ianto shrugged it off, it was best to accept it rather than fight or agonize over it. So the young archivist learned that when thinking of Gwen, Jack became passionate, like fire, burning hot and all consuming. Sloppy kisses, nails scratching, teeth biting, sweaty tangles of limbs and sheets, like the sex scenes in the movies, pure unbridled lust. 

It annoys Ianto to no end. First off he feels rather insulted by the fact that Jack visualizes him as a woman; he allows the older man to bugger him but that doesn't turn Ianto in to a girl, far from it. Actually Ianto can't figure out how Jack can imagine he is with a woman when Ianto is obviously lacking in the feminine physiology department. The captain most have one hell of an imagination if he can play pretend there is soft breast in place of a hard chest. Not to mention the amazing feat of ignoring Ianto's cock bouncing and brushing against the former time agent's abs, in favor of picturing a dripping wet cooch. Secondly if Jack wants to fuck Gwen he should go right ahead and do it. It’s not like either of them is above of having an affair. Gwen proved it with her 'dangerous liaisons' with Owen. And Jack has proved it many times over by being Captain Jack fucking Harkness, he can have anyone he wants in whichever way he wants; what with all those irresistible 51st century pheromones, that are powerful enough to turn a 'straight' man 'gay' for him, namely one Ianto Jones.

Now when life shoots them all to hell and sends them all rolling in a cluster-fuck. When Jack becomes angry and embittered be it by a mission gone wrong, by a spat with Gwen or Owen, or just because he was having a really fucking bad life. It’s John Hart's name that he grunts. In those moments Ianto is slightly frightened. He is not sure what Jack is capable of, he has seen the man truly enraged, mostly at him with the Lisa incident, and yet the captain restrains himself. Ianto feels that Jack can hurt and maim, he feels sometimes he is close to doing it. Yet he waits 'till he is alone with the tea boy and proceeds to unleash his anger and frustration on Ianto; or rather on John Hart via Ianto. In this occasions Jack is rough, pulling hair, spanking, slightly strangling, and thrusting so hard and so fast that he pounds Ianto against the mattress. Grunting, groaning and growling; while snarling John's name accompanied by venomous expletives. It’s like angry, rabid make up sex after a huge fight, or more like making love to your enemy, which like with The Doctor, that might as well be the case.

Of all their shagging encounters, the ones that have scared and rocked Ianto to his core have been the rare occasions when Jack has actually made love to him. Scratch that, not to him, but to some woman named Sahara, that Jack imagines in Ianto's place. It’s only happened less than a handful of times. And the experience hurts Ianto more than any angry sex does. Because when Jack is with Sahara, he is in love. His love making - for that is what it is, and calling it anything less would be an insult- becomes soft, caring and tender. Careful hands explore and caress thoroughly, the kisses and the thrusting is slow and deliberate, and love gushes out of Jack in waves. And the warmth that soothes the fortunate woman in the captain's mind, suffocate Ianto in turn. 

The first time this happened the young Welshman wept throughout the glorious experience. However his tears of bliss mingled with those of disappointment when Jack reverently whispered the name Sahara, in a hushed sweet tone like he was saying a prayer. No one had made love to him like that, he never thought such feelings could exist, let alone that he deserved to bask in them. And here it was mocking him, hurting and cutting deep in to his soul. For while he receives this religious experience -it can't be anything but- it was not meant for him. Jack would never make love to him like that. That is something he reserved for Sahara, while Ianto had to suffer and conform with impersonating her ghost in Jack's mind. 

The only times when Jack acknowledges Ianto as the one he is fucking, are when he is in a playful mood. When there are toys and games involved. When there is a stop watch, a measuring tape or naked hide and seek. Then and only then does Jack Harkness gasps and moans Ianto Jones' name.

Then there are times when Ianto Jones is not enough, when his chest is too flat, his cock is one too many and his hole is not loose and wet enough. That's when late at night Jack prowls the streets of Cardiff in search of the favors of real women. Ianto knows this because he is the one who cleans the smell of cheap perfume out of Jack's grey coat, and scrubs the lip rouge out of his shirt's collars. It makes the young archivist wonder, does Jack uses them as he uses him. Does he call others name's -does he calls Ianto's- as he cums inside them. That thought made Ianto pause, Jack doesn't use condoms when he fucks him, he wonders if the captain goes bare back on those women too. He makes a note to himself, 'buy and use condoms at all times from now on’; it won’t do if he catches something from Jack's dabbling with those women. A new question pops in his mind, was it only women, or did Jack went out to shag other guys when he became bored with Ianto. If that is so then that puts him a few notches lower than a ‘fuck buddy’ and maybe a couple of notches above a prostitute.

Ianto is no fool; he knows exactly what he is to Jack. And he agreed to it the moment he insinuated himself to the captain. He knew it was nothing more or less then convenient sex. He was only a warm fuck-hole for Jack to put his cock into when he couldn't be bothered with the intricacy and formalities of one night stands shagging strangers; or for those times when the rift and Torchwood got in the way of cruising for sex. And still it means so much more to Ianto, the Welshman fell in love with Jack, he adores him. He is loyal and faithful to a fault. His very life is to the beck and call of the 51st century immortal. Jack gave him meaning a reason to live after Lisa and Ianto was not going to throw his life line away. He is convinced Jack needs him as much as he needs Jack and so he will endure.

Jack can call him every name in the planet during sex if he so wished it. Well maybe not Owen's even Ianto has his limits. His dry humor takes over for a moment, maybe he should propose a bit of role playing to Jack. He can wear Converse with his suits that would make him more Doctor-ish. A black wig should make him look like a sick parody of Gwen, Ianto snorts at the thought, slightly disgusted by the disturbing mental image. Maybe a red coat and a bottle of booze for when he plays John Hart, though he could never be as brash as the ex-time agent, God forbids. As for Sahara... Ianto dares not to touch that one.

Ianto is pulled out of his musing by the sound of Jack clearing his throat. The younger Welshman turns to discover that the captain is giving him that look, the one with the lustful eyes and the winning smile. As the older American stalks closer to Ianto he briefly wonders who is Jack seeing, will he be the longed for Doctor, desirable Gwen, infuriating John, beloved Sahara or will he be allow to remain simply Ianto.


	2. Moratorium

Unlike the others, Ianto doesn't blame Jack for leaving. It hurts, yes, but he doesn't blame him. Not like Owen who was angry and bitter, snapping at any mention of their leader. Not silently indignant like Tosh, and definitely not upset, sulky and betrayed like Gwen. No Ianto felt guilty, like they deserved to be abandoned. God knows they had just betrayed their captain and almost destroyed the world chasing ghosts. So in Ianto's opinion they had no right scorning the immortal when he upped and left without saying a word.

When Jack comes swaggering back, all smiles and charm, Ianto isn't surprised. Relieved yes, but not surprised. The fact that he had been with The Doctor isn't news either. Ianto suspected as much after discovering the 51st century man was gone. Now Ianto didn't know what shocked him more; the captain's 'confession' -at Ianto's inquiry if Jack intended to remain with his Doctor- “I came back for you,” or the instant correction that followed “all of you”, with Jack staring into Gwen's eyes. Annoyed for allowing himself the momentary delusion, the tea boy knows things haven't changed. What he doesn't know is if he is still okay with it. 

John Hart came as a big unwelcome surprise. The haughty time agent made Ianto and Jack's less then pleasant reunion into a real nightmare. When Jack introduced John Hart, Ianto recognized who he was – Jack had called to the man in the sack many times before. During the short time in which he got to know Hart, Ianto understood Jack's animosity towards his former lover. John was brash, vulgar, cocky, a compulsive liar and a self-centered bastard. The young Welshman couldn't figure out by the life of him just what the hell it was that Jack saw in the man. It made Ianto question Jack's taste in partners. 

Despite the whole nasty wild goose chase episode, Ianto held on to the sliver of hope that was Jack's proposal for a date. Maybe things would change after all. That hope however was dashed the moment John Hart was gone, -physically at least, Ianto would soon find out that the time agent lingered vividly in Jack's mind- and every member of team Torchwood went home. As Ianto remained in the Hub with Jack, wanting to stay a little longer with the captain and making sure he was okay, John's parting words seemed to have shook the immortal deeply. When Ianto tried to comfort the American he was rewarded with being the outlet of Jacks anxiety and frustration once again. 

And so it was that their first encounter after the immortal's return ended with a very angry and sexually sore Ianto, -and not in a pleasant way. Jack had all but pummeled the younger man's ass, while cussing and cursing Hart. It took all of Ianto's dignity and self- control not to sob, not only in pain at being taken so roughly after months of abstinence; but at the unfairness of it all. He had hoped, if not for a heartfelt reunion with his captain, then for a playful night of hot, mind blowing sex. Instead he got what felt close to a violation, had it not been consensual, and still it could be argued that he had not consented to a BDSM cession. 

Once the tirade was over, putting on his clothes Ianto paused and faced Jack. “Maybe you should've accepted his orgy proposal,” that caught the 51st century ex-time agent off guard and he gaped at Ianto, the question written clearly on his face.  
“I'm sure he wouldn't have minded your trying to arse-stab him to death with your cock,” Ianto clarified with a deadpan voice, leaving Jack to watch his retreating back, as he walked away as dignified as he could with the awkward limp, product of Jack's angry sex. The young archivist was glad he wore suits to work; the layers of clothes would hide the resulting bruises easily. 

Things returned to normal after that, Jack seemed to have caught the hint and refrained from bringing the ghost of John Hart to crowd their bed play. Ianto was content with their casual sex in which for once he featured as the principal object of Jack's pleasure. When Tommy Brockless was brought back to life for his annual checkup, Ianto worried for a bit. Tommy always made Jack nostalgic for his own time in the wars and Sahara. He found it ironic that for a man of the future, Jack was always caught up in the past. However the Welshman was surprised when Jack admitted that he wouldn't change the loves he has found along his long journey for having remained home in his own time. Though he knew the immortal was referring to The Doctor and Sahara, Ianto allowed himself to believe he had a place among those Jack has loved through the ages. Furthermore Ianto was static when the captain turned to him for comfort and that night they had shared a pretty intense and sweet intercourse. It wasn't love making, but it wasn't completely casual either and what was more important is that it was Ianto Jones that Jack saw in his bed, not Sahara. And for once it was all well between them.

Until the reality of Gwen's engagement pushed the limits of Jack's patience that is. Ianto took to leave the room when Jack and Gwen become affronted by the collision of her normal life with Torchwood's work requirements. The sexual tension between the two makes Ianto want to gag, and he knows that later on he will be the outlet for that tension, as he becomes Gwen Cooper in front of Jack's eyes while in his bed, yet again. And still Ianto can't blame her; he understood what she saw in Jack. Ianto himself saw the same things. Jack was all a woman would want; he is intelligent, powerful, resourceful, drop dead handsome, and a sex god. But he couldn't help but think she was selfish, she has a wonderful fiancé but it was not enough, she wanted Jack as well. It was not fair but he couldn't bring himself to point it out, not to Jack and certainly not to Gwen.

With the inclusion of Rhys in the Hub, Jack feels his position as alpha male is challenged and Ianto watches amused as the two men engage in the proverbial pissing contest. The archivist almost expected for them to wipe out the measuring tape, he was fairly certain who would win that particular contest. When Rhys walks out of the Hub as a hero with Gwen in toe, Jack turns to Ianto to re-ascertain his dominance. After Jack is done fucking Gwen into submission in his mind, -in reality he just raw fucked Ianto into rebellious annoyance- the tea boy brings him a cup of coffee. As he places the mug on the captain's desk, Ianto states calmly “You know sir, instead of brandishing out the measuring tapes, next time you, Gwen and Rhys are in the same room you could use those alien pheromones Owen used to smuggle out when he went clubbing.” Jack frowned confused. “I reckon it would be a better way to deal with the unresolved sexual tension.” and if there was a hint of bitterness in his tone he masked it with a smile, even as Jack glared at him for suggesting a threesome. As Ianto left the office he felt justified for his words and for giving Jack decaf. 

When Martha Jones walked through the cog wheel of Torchwood three she brought with her the ghost of The Doctor. Jack hadn't uttered the Time Lord's tittle for months, not since his return from his travels with him. That had made Ianto believe the 51st century captain had gotten over his crush with The Doctor. It gave Ianto the hope that one day the ex-time agent will get over his crush with Gwen, until it only remains Sahara and Ianto himself -he knew Jack would never let go of her, not completely. 

Now the longing was back in Jack, and Ianto found he couldn't pretend he was okay with it. Every time they have sex for the length of Martha's stay, Jack fell back into conjuring The Doctor's image over Ianto's body. By this point the Welshman has stopped pretending that he is involved in the act, he simply lays down -or bends over, depending the case- like a doll and lets Jack play out his fantasies, be it Gwen or The Doctor. Hell sometimes Ianto wished Jack would call someone else in bed. If not to him then John Hart again, or Owen, even Janet would have been less upsetting, less disgusting, less painful. He doesn't reciprocate the older American's ministration; he barely responds to them and never climaxes with Jack anymore. It’s following one of those unsatisfying encounters - in which Jack role played to be thrusting into The Doctor- that Ianto voices a thought that had been bothering him since the anew recurrence of the Time Lord into the immortal's bed. “That's why you came to us.” he nodded to himself as if assuring that he was indeed correct. “You needn't go back to him. You brought him along with you.” Ianto doesn't have to clarify which 'him' he is referring to, Jack knows it all too well. Ianto is not surprised when there is no response, he wasn't expecting one.

With the wedding’s impending approach Gwen takes center stage in Jack's 'sack role playing' as Ianto has come to think of it. The tea boy was relieved when they were not invited to the wedding, grateful that he wouldn't have to witness Jack sulking over it. He was eager for the day to come and go in hopes that with her absence during her honeymoon Jack would center himself and cool off his desire for the Welshwoman once she has become Mrs. Williams. As it turned out they ended in the thick of it. Ianto cursed his luck as he found himself buying a new wedding dress, having to endure the mortification of the clerk's comment was just the icing on the cake. So he couldn't help but snap at Jack's “inner conflicts” comment, stressing the words 'happy couple' as he suppressed the urge to throttle the insensible immortal on the spot. The sadness and disappointment that radiate from Jack as Gwen says her vows, only worsen Ianto's mood. By the time he spots Jack dancing with Gwen, gazing lovingly in to her eyes, the younger man is angry beyond belief. He abandons the DJ's equipment and makes his way towards them, resolved in claiming his place as the captain's lover. But as he sweeps Jack way from Gwen, there is no loving gaze for him, only a roll of the eyes, the captain’s way to say that Ianto was being ridiculously childish.

After the mop-up operation, despondence has taken over Ianto and he takes refuge in his duties as Torchwood factotum. Even as Owen and Tosh head home and Jack goes into his office, Ianto takes the Nostrovite's corpse from the SUV and into the morgue. When he comes into the Hub and the captain's office, to see if Jack needs something else before he heads home, Ianto notices the pictures on the desk. He is not startled when Jack stands behind him, winds his arms around the young man's waist and plants soft kisses on his neck. There is nothing he would've liked more then to surrender into the older man's embrace but Jack's demeanor lets Ianto know that it is not him who he is seeing. No, is too early to be certain, but the archivist expects it to either Gwen or Sahara. Or maybe both if they happen to have a two round encounter as it was the case often when Jack can't make up his mind on which lover he'd rather be at a given moment. 

Well he is neither of them and it is with great resignation that Ianto pulls away from Jack. “I'm sorry, Sir, I guess you'll have to 'Do' with pizza” he deadpans letting the immortal know he overheard his conversation with Gwen and that he resents it deeply.  
Jack falters for a moment before he tries reaching for him again “Ianto...” but Ianto's step back silences the captain's attempt at seduction even before it can begin.  
“Sir we've chased a psycho alien mom all day, deejay-ed and played the wedding fairy all night. I'm knackered and in no mood to indulge your role playing shags. Now if there is nothing else you need I'm going home, goodnight, sir.” It took all of Ianto's resolve not to look back at the American's stunned face as he walked away from Jack's bed of lies for what he hopes will be the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : Chapter’s title and song is Moratorium by Alanis Morissette.


	3. Tears and Rain

Jack knows what he's done, he knew from the start. He is not as oblivious as he appears to be. But even though he is conscious of his actions and their consequences, it doesn't mean he does it on purpose, well not entirely. Jack can't help it. He has always been and always will be a flirt. But he must admit that isn't the real problem here. If he had limited to just flirting then there wouldn't be a problem to begin with. But Ianto didn't make it any easier.

Jack had wanted Ianto the moment he laid eyes on the young Welshman. But it wasn't only the face, the body, hell not even the accent; which all put together it made one hell of a package, gloriously wrapped in tailored suits. No, more than that it had been the stubborn persistence, the dignity with which he carries himself, the readiness with which he jumped to assist the former time agent. That's what lured Jack in.

True Jack suspected the kid had some mental issues. Who in their right mind would seek out to be enlisted in Torchwood again after having survived Canary Wharf? Jack thought it most had been something akin to Stockholm syndrome. As it turned out, it wasn't quite that, but he wasn't entirely wrong; Ianto didn't only have mental issues but lots of emotional baggage. But not even the nasty Cyberwoman episode, not even the deep feel of betrayal was enough to lessen the desire Jack felt towards him. It made Ianto so much more real, much more human. And Jack simply gravitated to all things human.

He was more than surprised when Ianto 'proposed' to him. Jack had thought that after offing Lisa, any chance of taking Ianto into his bed was lost. So he was not going to turn down what could possibly be a once in a lifetime opportunity- he was elated when it became a common occurrence- and he gladly accepted, how could he not. He questioned the emotional balance of both of them in taking that step, but he didn't stop it. He believed they needed it, a catharsis of sorts, to clear all the bad air between them.

Jack committed that night to memory. It had been Ianto's first time with a man. The Welshman had been nervous, Jack thought he was ready to bolt a few times, but he was also determined to see it through. The whole thing was awkward and clumsy, also but fun. What Ianto lacked in technique he made up in eagerness. That is the source of Jack's problem, Ianto always strives to please. He always anticipates your needs and delivers accordingly to the best of his abilities. Be it in the field, with information, coffee, or sex.

Jack loves the sex. For looking like a well-mannered, conservative Welshman, Ianto turned out to be quite the amazing fuck buddy. Then why isn't he enough? He is always willing to try out all of Jack's 'innovations'-as he likes to call them. Ianto is never dull, he is witty, so useful, so pliant, has such malleable personality, especially when it came to catering to Jack needs, that the older man took it for granted. And that is how this mess began. The 51st century man got carried away. He portrayed his every sexual\emotional need- for he is not pretentious enough to try to deny that there are indeed feelings involved- on Ianto. And just like at the Hub, Ianto became Jack's bedroom factotum. Ianto is now the stage and cast in which Jack plays out all of his sexual fantasies.

The captain had never done that before, to fantasize about someone else while he fucked another. The captain has always been very conscious of his lover's needs and pleasure. So he can't figure out why he is doing it now; and to Ianto of all people. It’s the archivist's fault, Jack reasons; it all comes down to that damn ability to cater to others selflessly anonymously. In the same way that he left a much needed file on your desk without your noticing, or the way in which he brought coffee, or uttered some useful piece of information and then crawls back into the woodwork. Ianto was equally skilled in this “invisible act” in bed. He is undemanding, has no expectation, accepts that which is given and offers all he has in turn.

It started when Jack's longing for The Doctor overwhelmed him; and when Ianto offered comfort, Jack compared him with The Doctor. They both wore suits- though Ianto wore them more graciously-, they are both quick witted and intelligent. In the end the Time Lord's image overlapped Ianto's and Jack momentarily forgot who he was shagging with. That first time Jack had felt embarrassed, guilty even. The ex-time agent had expected for Ianto to get angry and blow him of- not in the good way either. But the Welshman took it in stride and never mentioned the incident afterward. And so instead of taking it like an accident, a mistake forgiven and forgotten; Jack took it as if he had been granted permission. The Doctor took over Ianto many times thereafter.

Jack isn't sure how John Hart came into this. He remembered being angry beyond belief, about to explode and become the ruthless time agent he had once been. As always the supposed American canalized his feelings into sexual energy. It was too late to go out cruising for sex and Ianto again offered to take Jack's mind off things. But Jack couldn't do it; he couldn't take his anger out on Ianto, not even with sex. When the thought occurred to him that he had always been able to vent with John Hart; he could plummet the crazed time agent arse without a moment’s thought, and the other would enjoy it immensely to boot. That's when he noticed Ianto's eyes were the same blue as John's, they had the same slight and short built, same brown hair. In an instant sweet Ianto transformed into insufferable John and Jack released his pent up need for violence on the younger man. Again Ianto took it graciously albeit a bit frightened, and Jack could have one more need catered to by the factotum.

Calling out Gwen's name for the first time had surprised Jack as much as it had surprised Ianto -it didn't escaped Jack's noticed that Ianto had gone flaccid the second the one syllable was uttered, consequently it was also the first time Jack failed to bring his bed partner to completion. It made Jack self-conscious but it was the only way he could curve the passion the Welshwoman stirred in him, without stepping in to her relationship with Rhys. Not that it seemed to matter much since she was going at it with Owen, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to become the cause of her unfaithfulness. Ianto had taken care of his other needs surely he wouldn't mind one more role to play.

How or why Jack is able to conjure Sahara's image onto Ianto is something he is not willing to face, the implications of what it might reveal of his own feelings for Ianto scares him. If he was not aware, Jack at least suspected what Ianto might feel towards him.

Jack became more aware of it upon his return after the year that never was. He noticed the changes in Ianto; he is not blind to the tea boy's plight. The captain wanted to make things right by him. He knows it hasn't been fair; but the Welshman never complained, not out loud, well not until now.

Of all his team mates Ianto seem to be the only one who didn't judge him, who didn't begrudge his absence; Jack was grateful for it. And even though he could see that something had changed in the young archivist, the captain thought they could pick up where they left off. After all, their dynamics, though dysfunctional, worked for them, or so he had believed.

The after math of consequences left in the wake of John Hart showed him otherwise. Jack was seeing red and all he wanted was to tear into John. Ianto was the closes thing at hand, and it wouldn't be the first time he did it. It was however the first time that Ianto voiced his opinion on the matter. After the icy comment about John not minding being fucked to death, Jack watches Ianto as he limps away, not sure if he heard the Welshman mutter about safe words, RACK and EPE under his breath. He had not been that forceful, had he? But the tissues Ianto had used to clean himself up- now disposed of in the bin- shows another reality, they are stained not only with Jack's cum but with blood. Not so much to be alarming, but more than a slight pinkish tinges that is normal when having a little of rough anal. It has distinctive red blotches that make him realize his thrusting had been a lot more brutal then he intended. He had never drawn blood from Ianto before, and the thought he has done so now scares him. Feeling immensely guilty Jack swears to never think of John Hart when he shags with Ianto, it has become too dangerous a game to continue, for Ianto's health sake at least. 

Thereafter, Jack concentrates on catching up with Ianto; in trying to make things right between them. He takes the archivist out for their date. It was a great evening spent together, and the occasion repeated itself as often as Torchwood and the Rift permitted, which wasn't often enough in both their opinions. And Ianto reclaims the spotlight in Jacks bed, and the 51st century man wonders why he had ceased to be to begin with. Sex with Ianto was always fun and satisfying. Like when Ianto showed him first hand, how 'terrifying' Jack's “just us and this room for as long as it takes.” threat could be.   
When they revive Tommy Brockless for what turns out to be the last time, Jack admits to the young Welshman he has no regrets in his time spend on Earth, thanks to the numerous relationships, to the different loves he has shared for the last 100 and odd years. And even though the soldier arouses a nostalgic longing in Jack, he also makes him realize he has to appreciate his present. So that night he took the comfort Ianto offers to face value and for the first time he allows himself to express a glimpse of his feelings for the younger man during intercourse. He reluctantly lets go of flirtatious pretense and lets his vulnerability, his longing, his need show, and Ianto responds in kind; giving support, understanding, a constant for Jack to cling to. Ianto stirs tenderness in Jack that night, and the captain realizes how sweet the tea boy is. It is the most satisfying sex Jack has had in a long time, for it has not only sated his libido, but gave him an emotional release, it grounded him in the current time and space. They seem to finally have found a functional compromise in their relationship -whatever that was- and things are steady between them for once, even better than the time before he left.

All good things most come to an end. Jack tried to hold on to his peace with Ianto for as long as he could; aware that the Welshman deserved his undivided sexual attention at the very least. But soon the reality of Gwen's wedding came crashing down on them. And the shaky foundations of their growing emotional liaison were rocked so hard it crumbled under the mounting pressure. As the captain's and the Welshwoman’s arguments intensified so did Jack's desire for her. She stirs such a deep passion that Jack can barely make it through the day without jumping the woman. And soon enough almost every night when Gwen goes home to her fiancé Jack hunts down Ianto to sate the fire the girl lit in him with every defying word she spat at him. It doesn't help matters that Jack blatantly lets show the need he feels for her, nor that she too feels something similar for the 51st century man.   
Things only get worse when Rhys battles his way in to the Hub, an act that the alpha male in Jack perceives as a challenge, and so he gets carried away in the pissing contest with the other man. When Gwen stands up for Rhys' valiant efforts of chivalry towards her, Jack looks for the nearest outlet he can find, namely Ianto Jones. He easily closes his eyes and transforms Ianto in to Gwen and proceeds to ascertain his domain on the Hub and its employees. Feeling much better with himself -and his undoubtedly bigger cock and ego- Jack is taken aback and little more than irked when Ianto busts his new found good mood by suggesting a threesome between the captain, Gwen and Rhys. But after taking a sip of what it turns out to be a mug of decaf, Jack is sure that it wasn't just Ianto's inappropriate martini dry humor that brought up the biting comment. The Welshman is really pissed at him and upon looking back at his behavior recently he couldn't say he blames the tea boy. But even this knowledge doesn't deter this patter to continue and so it is with resignation that Jack accepts the dose of decaf that comes every time he calls Gwen's name while he shags Ianto. 

Jack thought things between them couldn't get much worse, until Martha unexpectedly brought with her his longing for The Doctor. Everything was spiraling out the captain's control and he wished for the Time Lord to come and sweep him off again. With The Doctor Jack didn't had to be the hero, 'cause The Doctor fills that role for him. Just like everyone else idolizes Jack, the former time agent holds his candle to The Doctor. There were no appearances to keep with the Time Lord, he knew Jack's every aspect, he is not blinded by his better side -on the contrary the alien man probably focused more on Jack's worst side. That is what has kept the captain from making a move on him. All Jack could do was fantasized and so he did. Since the arrival of Martha -and with her the ghost of The Doctor- the sex sessions with Ianto become a frenzy blur, with the image of The Doctor and Gwen's warring for taking hold over the archivist's body. 

Jack is mildly aware of Ianto's lack of response, for all the effort the tea boy puts in to shagging he might as well be a little more than an inflatable doll – the only difference between the two is the Welshman's body heat and the wider variety of positions he could be maneuvered into. Ianto is once more reduced to a warm fuck-hole to plunge his incessantly aching cock into. Jack knows he is hurting the younger man, but all that matters for him is to channel the unstable emotional upheaval into satisfying, orgasm inducing sexual energy. To drown in the blissful blank that cumming gives even if only for a few seconds. And so when Ianto parts from his bed one night with cryptic words about the captain's clinging to The Doctor; Jack pushes the guilt for using him aside, and even manages to feel justified. Surely Ianto can't hold it against him; this is the only way in which Jack can satisfy his urge to be with the Time Lord. The Doctor never condoned or accepted Jacks advances. It doesn't even matter that Ianto didn't know that. 

Often Jack has wondered how far Ianto's tolerance can go. He seems to have infinite fucking patience. So Jack is taken aback when he finally reaches the limit of that particular virtue in the young man. It is belatedly that the captain realizes that the events surrounding Gwen's wedding didn't only hurt Jack, but Ianto as well; the later much more deeply perhaps. When Ianto walks out of his office -after refusing for the first time to cater Jack's needs- the captain sits at his desk in stunned silence. It wasn't the bitterness in the Welshman's words; nor the fact that he has unmistakably fallen from Ianto's good grace, that shake the ex-time agent. It’s the despondence he sees in his gait, the slump on his shoulders, the hurt and the disappointment that shows in the blue eyes. It’s the set of the younger man's frown as he visibly fights to reject the American's advances; the determination with which he denies himself the satisfaction of the yearning to fall back into the older man's arms; the painful renouncing of Jacks bed, not only for this night, but every night thereafter. He has taken Ianto's readiness to please and his strive to selflessly serve for granted, taking all he had to offer but giving nothing back, and so the well's run dry so to speak. Now Ianto has declared a moratorium and Jack isn't quite so confuse when he realizes it actually hurts. 

A/N: Chapter title/song is Tears and Rain by James Blunt.


	4. Not as We

As it is to be expected things between Jack and Ianto are tense, if not cold. Of course Ianto doesn't show any signs that things are less then amicable with the captain. He still acts as if nothing has gone wrong with their affair when in company of the other members. The young man even responds to Jack's 'mock flirtations'; as far as the team goes they still shag. And Jack finds this admirably professional yet infinitely annoying. The 51st century man is put out by their separation and -in his infinite vanity- not seeing any outward signs of the same in the Welshman bothers him. Though in reality he knows Ianto is probably much more torn then the ex-time agent. The difference being that Ianto has the amazing, if not unhealthy, ability to internalize his emotions.

Only when alone can Jack see the cracks in Ianto's facade. When everyone has gone home and only Ianto remains in the Hub cleaning up after the others or the inmates, sorting through files, documents and alien artifacts or disposing of evidence. Jack stands on his vantage point in the conference room looking down on Ianto, he notices how the younger man stops and looks around himself as if lost. When he is done for the night, at the point when he had normally retreated into the immortal's bed; now Ianto wandered aimlessly around until eventually he'd don his coat and drag his feet out the Cog Wheel. Slowly Jack sees Ianto deteriorate and he seems to be the only one who notices. The rest of the team is oblivious at how Ianto fidgets when he stands too long doing nothing; how he seems to become unsure and uneasy as if he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

He watches Ianto round another pointless circuit across the Hub. There is nothing to clean up, nothing to file away; Ianto stands in the middle and looks around with -dare he say it- desolate eyes and sighs, he picks up his things and heads out. Jack is startled when Ianto pauses and looks back up at him, where he stands behind his window pane, with so much longing. And it dawns on Jack; he hadn't been the only one who sought solace in the tiny bed in the bunker under his office. The older man realizes, these moments of inactivity that now eat away at Ianto used to be filled with meaningful glances, suggestive words and flirtatious touches that occupied the younger man in between filing, coffee, cleaning and weevil hunting. Just like Ianto was his bedroom factotum, he was Ianto's. Only the captain has failed to step up to this task, no, duty. 

He has to find out a way to fix things with the archivist. Maybe he can't return Ianto's feelings in the same measure, but he can't keep denying that he does feel something other than lust for the Welshman. He owes him that and much more. A scene surfaces in Jack's mind: “Coming here, gave me meaning again” Ianto had said. “You!” it was half gasped, half whispered; almost like an epiphany, as the big blue eyes had looked up at Jack so vulnerable, with so much need and devotion. The captain had leaned down and kissed his brow tenderly. Jack frowns he has no memory of that happening, when had that been? The ex-time agent tries to remember but it remains elusive, but he has an impression something important had happened between them, or was it his Ianto deprived imagination playing tricks on him.

Ianto fixes his tie and smooth imaginary wrinkles from his suit one last time before he steps in through the Cog Wheel. He immediately moves to the coffee machine, a few minutes later he is taking a cup of Industrial strength to Jack's office. He can hear the immortal moving around in his bunk and for a fleeting moment he flirts with the idea of taking the coffee down into the manhole; but quickly decides against it, reminding himself he no longer shares such intimacies with Jack, as much as it pains him. Leaving the coffee on the desk – the aroma will bring the captain to the surface anyway- he proceeds to start his day's work before the others arrive. His days become a mindless blur, between cleaning, coffee, filing and the occasional rift alert; nothing to help him separate one day's event from the one prior to it. Not even his diary holds a clear semblance of dates and times. He doesn't write in it every day as he used to.

The young Welshman finds himself more often than not wandering aimlessly around the Hub. It’s not many days later when he realizes there is a gnawing pain in his gut... “Like my stomach is full of rats.” Ianto is startled by the familiar thought passing through his mind again. He curses his own stupidity and weakness; he has allowed himself to center his whole life around one single person again, only instead of Lisa is Captain Jack Harkness. 

Now that he doesn't have the captain Ianto is back to the time when he lost Lisa completely. How come sex with the immortal had become the purpose of his existence? How that physical contact can mean so much so it defines not only his place in Torchwood team, but the very reason of his being. He hadn't realized just how important a role he has unwittingly given the captain in his life. Jack makes him laugh, flirt, blush. Kissing Jack made him feel appreciated. Sex with him made him feel he is something more than a tea boy, like he is needed; it made him forget he has nothing outside of Torchwood. Falling asleep in the 51st century man's arms at night had felt like home. The stolen moments of heated kissing in the archives, the rushed “nooners” in the cells had made him feel alive, young again. 

Now Jack's piercing blue gaze hurts him, the smiling lips and expressive hands make him ache with longing. Now he feels dull, numb and weary, so, so weary. “Like the world had ended” the thought popped into his mind, it felt too familiar to be random, but what it's new is the image that accompanied it. Sitting in the conference room, Jack leans down and tenderly kisses his brow. But he can't connect the image with a memory, there is no such event in his diary; surely he would've written about it, but that has never happened. Had it?

Jack knows Ianto is at his wits end in trying to avoid him if he invites Gwen and Owen, of all people to the Electro movie theater. The captain is sure the irony is not lost in the archivist when his night out avoiding Jack, becomes a night of work alongside said immortal. Jack becomes concern when the case seems to affect Ianto in a personal level. So much so that the younger man fails to respond with a witty quip at Gwen's barb about Jack needing Ianto's 'local knowledge' an obvious jab at their supposed relationship. He is amazed that the film and its characters touched Ianto so deeply. The younger man really feel's for the beings trapped in the time and space in a piece of film. Jack is grateful that the animosity towards him melts away to sympathy, as Ianto is struck; not for the first time, by the realization of Jack's sorrowful plight. How he too is stuck in time and space, literally and figuratively. 

But there is something else about the case that shakes Ianto. He seems inclined towards the victims, specially the kids. He seems desperate to save them. Ianto as the cleanup operative handles the collateral damage and casualties left by the rift; not with indifference but with cool detachment. He has to, if he is to mourn for every rift victim, for every life they don't save, they'd have to throw him in the loony bin sooner rather than later. But not this time, this time around both The Night Travelers and their victims strike a chord that leaves the Welshman depressed and vulnerable.

Ianto laughs inwardly when it starts to rain. This, as expected, makes his two companions complain. The Welshman is not sure why he asked them to come along. And even less sure of why in the blazes they actually accepted. Probably he is too antsy to stay home alone and the Hub is out of the question. He needs to be as far away from Jack as possible. He misses the other man, more than he cares to admit, more than he had expected. He finds that if he is to remain near him he will give in to Jack's searching gaze, to his apologetic smiles and to his pheromones. Ianto can't afford to fall into Jack's bed again. Not like before, he loathes to admit it but he needs more than what Jack is willing to deliver. So as it is, here he is soaked to the bone with Gwen and Owen complaining even before they've reached the theater. Just wait untill they realize the film is not only black and white, but mute too. Then they will really bitch.

They had indeed bitched and moaned, but what really made Ianto heave a long suffering sigh is the fact that his night out away from Jack, turned out into a working night out with none other than Captain Jack Harkness.

It’s a bit amusing to see the kid trying to explain what had happened. If he hadn't seen so much, he'd be freaking out too. But now Ianto is like the rest of them. He enjoys it, the danger excites him. He is sure he too makes the same face he accused Tosh they all shared at Brecon Beacons, the adrenaline high. As they find the Night Traveler's victims Ianto wanders why they hadn't tried to do the same to him when they first escaped the film. Like for any other victim the tea boy feels sympathy for them. But the two children so close in age to his own niece and nephew made something almost break inside him. If they don't stop them, this too can happen to other families, to his own. 

He is so worried he lets slip he knows the psychiatric facility; thank God Jack makes no comment about it. When they talk to Christina and see how affected she is, even in her old age; Ianto can't help but wonder if the only thing the past does is to drag itself up to the present with the sole and only purpose of hurt us. He is tired of seeing the past hurt people, hurt him. Why does the Night Travelers, like Jack; insist on clinging to the past, why can't they look forward to a future. He has let go of his past; he hasn't forgotten Lisa, but he has put her behind him and moved on. Like Jack said to him, and ironically enough to John Hart, but was incapable of doing it himself. Talk about preaching to the choir.

In the end they could only save one poor soul. Ianto holds his own breath as Jack returns the child's. He can't help the tears as the boy comes to life again. They have managed to save him, but someone’s selfish desire for the times long past has robbed the kid of his family; he is now alone in the world. The young Welshman usually manages the archiving, not trusting anyone with his elaborate complicated filling system. This time however he can't seem to pull his stoic mask together and leaves Jack to deal with the damned flask. He can't even stand to look at the thing. As he leaves Jack's office he feels like the Night Traveler's victims, ghosts of the past -Jack's past more than his own- have left him drained, dry out and barely alive in the wake of nothing but tears and rain. 

A/N: Chapter’s title/song is Not as We by Alanis Morissette.


	5. Good Enough

Jack frowns as he watches Ianto leave his office; the younger man is obviously upset. Should he pursue him and offer comfort or leave him alone. After all he had tried to get away from him, that's why he had gone to the Electro. But reflecting on the time he's known Ianto he realizes that he had left the Welshman alone too many times. Whenever Jack needed comfort, when he was haunted by the daunting tasks of Torchwood, when he was shaken by being dragged back to life; Ianto had always come to him, it had never been Jack the one who seeks out Ianto. He had known he was needed and he had come. Even before they started having sex, the tea boy had been there to support him, like when Estelle had been drowned by the so called fairies, when he had to let them take little Jasmine for the sake of the world. Even if Lisa had been killed mere weeks prior, Ianto had not blamed Jack for surrendering the girl to the fairyland, and had been sympathetic and understanding. 

And Jack had failed to return the favor. After offing Lisa he left the distraught man to deal with guilt and grief by himself. At Brecon Beacons he had neglected a beaten half to death Ianto in favor of an emotionally shaken Gwen. But she hadn't been the one “tenderized” and almost “bled”, she hadn't seen the cannibalized bodies, she hadn't come in to work the day after with deep bruising, lingering concussion, cracked ribs and nightmares of people trying to eat him alive; Ianto did. He didn't run to Owen's bed -thank God- he didn't ask for medical help aside some standard over the counter painkillers, he had not sought comfort or refuge from this horror lingering in his mind and Jack hadn't offer neither. More recently when Gwen had stepped out to save Rhys and Jack himself hadn't lift a finger to save Ianto as he was held hostage along the Welshwoman's fiancé, he hadn't even blinked twice as the man held a gun to the tea boy's head. Each and every time Jack had failed to rise to the occasion of giving some sort of support or comfort for the younger man. 

It is time to stop pretending, the captain knows it will hurt him in the long run. When Ianto either grows old or has an untimely death in the line of Torchwood's duty. But Ianto has already crawled into Jack's heart, like no one else in more than half a century's time. Steeling himself the American goes in search of his archivist. He finds Ianto sitting on the couch under Torchwood's logo, a mug of steaming coffee clutched tightly between his hands staring off into space. A second mug sits on a tray on the low table. If Ianto had meant to take it up to Jack and decided against it, or if he had known -hoped- the older man would follow, he wasn't sure but Jack decided to take it as a reluctant invitation and approaches the troubled young man.

Jack takes the mug he assumes is meant for him. He sits next to Ianto, not as close as he would've before, but close enough that it was debatable if it still was politically correct. It makes Ianto fidget, almost shudder; is he so susceptible to the 51st century pheromones? He takes a careful sip of the hot brew, Industrial strength special he notes. It warms Jack's inside and helps him brace for what he is about to face.

“How are you Ianto?” the question gives him a sense of deja vu. The Welshman opens his mouth as if to reply then seems to think better of it; Jack thought he might not answer.

“I've been better...sir,” he finally replies evenly, adding the last part almost like and afterthought. 

The formal way of address makes Jack wince, but not as much as the answer itself. It is obviously the understatement of the year, but at least it's not the automatic “I'm fine,” that more often than not it's a blatant lie. 

“Do you...” he clears his throat “want to talk about it?” Jack ventures.

“Not particularly,” Ianto says, eyes staring ahead all the time.

“Is there anything I can do for you, anything you need?” the captain congratulates himself in managing to say this without any hint of innuendo.

“Jack, you don't have to do this, whatever it is that you are trying to do,” the younger man says. Placing his mug on the table, he finally turns to look at Jack.

The American seems affronted and a bit lost for words and puts his mug down as well. “I'm trying to help, to show you that you don't have to do everything alone. And you are right I don't 'have' to but I 'want' to Ianto,” the last part came almost as a plea and Jack realizes that at this point in time he is not above begging. “Please Ianto let me show you that I...”

“That you what Jack, that you care?” the captain is not so surprised that Ianto could read him so easily. “I've known that all along Jack, I'm not that narrow minded,” he clarifies with a little fondness in his voice. “But what would be the point Jack? Another tumble and rumble in the sack to forget how everything is all shit and how much it hurt for five minutes, and then what? I can't do that again Jack.”

“I know Ianto, that's why I-” he tried to explain but Ianto cut him off.

“You know I understand, I know why you've kept me, everyone, at arm’s length. God knows I would do the same if I where you. What I can't deal with is being used as an inflatable doll without a face that you can replace with any number of masks to suit your fancy Jack. I don't mind being just a shag. I'm not asking for a romance; but I have enough dignity and self-respect left to demand that at least I'd be recognized as the damn shag,” he is agitated.

“I am so sorry, I never meant it to go that far,” Jack tries to explain just to be interrupted again.

“I know you didn't,” he lets out a humorless laugh “that it did is more my fault than yours.” 

The ex-time agent is appalled to hear this.

“I should've put a stop to it before, call it off the first time it happened. But I convinced myself it be just that one time, when it kept happening I told myself it didn't matter because you've had a shittier life than anyone so who was I to deny you a few fantasies. If I could live without Lisa, surely I could live with you calling me Gwen when we fuck. I should've been okay with it, a shag is a shag. It shouldn't have been so much harder, hurt much more so. I should have...” he swallows thickly against the lump in this throat and the burning in his tearing eyes, it's the first time he voices this thoughts out loud, and to Jack of all people. “I don't know what I should've done; every time I look back I can't play it out differently.”

“Ianto, it is I who should've played it differently, what I'm trying to say is I want- no, I need you to give me a chance to fix things.”

“Jack I'm not broken!” came the quick snap.

Jack sighs ‘Aren't you?’ is what he wants to say but he is not here to talk about the many mental issues the guy obviously has. “I know you aren't, I want to make it up to you. I treated you unjustly, I used you to fill needs I thought couldn't be fulfilled unless it was with the person who evoked those feeling in the first place. Feelings I denied I had for the longest time. I was able to pin those needs on you, because you are so malleable, so eager to please Ianto-” the younger man had listened to him quietly but at this point he tried to interrupt. “No Ianto, hear me out, please. You are the one who filled those voids, not the images I placed over you. It’s that same strive to please that makes you able to know what I want and need even before I realize it myself. You always came to me; did what needed to be done, no questions asked. No one else but you, Ianto, I realize that now.” 

The Welshman is stunned in to silence. He was expecting an apology, maybe some excuses, but not the confession, that is as good a one as he was ever going to get from the 51st century man.

Jack takes advantage that for once Ianto is lost for words and continues, “I may not be able to return your feelings in full,” he phrases this carefully Ianto has never used the 'L' word and sure as hell the captain wasn't going to say it. It would make what he is about to propose seem cruel. “But I do care for you beyond sex, which I may add is amazing,” this makes Ianto blush “You've shown me sympathy, understanding, when I needed someone to talk to, when I needed sex to make me feel alive, a joke to lighten a morose mood, a sharp remark to bring me down to earth, someone to hold or be held, you were there every time, just like when I needed to be alone you kept your distance, you respect my privacy, even my need for secrecy. And I want to return the favor; I would like the opportunity to assume the same role in your life Ianto. Even if I can't give you a romance, let me make things right by you in whatever measure I can.”

Jack has placed his cards on the table; this is as much as he can offer. He watches Ianto slowly process what has been revealed, what is being proposed, the tea boy looks close to tears. The immortal holds his breath; all the while hoping against hope that he can do this right and regain some measure of favor with the archivist and not frighten him further away if that's even possible. Jack is startled, but pleased when Ianto responds by pressing his lips to Jack's in a deep kiss. The captain wastes no time in cupping the back of the Welshman's head with one hand and the gentle jawline with the other. Ianto's hands respond in kind, one tangle in Jack's dark hair the other pulls on the braces as he leans back on the couch, bringing the older man's body to rest atop his. As much as he is enjoying the contact Jack breaks the kiss, they are both panting.

“Ianto you don't have to do this if you don't want to, I sought you out because I can see this case stirred something in you in a personal level. If you want to talk-” Jack tried to clarify but Ianto shook his head.

“Talking has never gotten us nowhere Jack, only to misunderstandings; but this-” he presses their lips together for a moment. “-and this,” He grinds their semi hard-on against each other’s and Jack can't help to moan. “we've always been able to understand.”

Jack looks crest fallen “But I want it to be more-”

“More than just sex, I know.” Ianto finishes for him. “But this time I can't talk about it without making you feel more guilt. I've had enough of the past shitting on my present to last me several lifetimes. Please Jack, let’s not dwell on it, what's done is done; I want to focus in the present and maybe even dare to hope for a future. I'm not rejecting your efforts of comfort, but tonight, this-” the pad of his fingers cares the captain's thin lips “- is all the comfort I need,” he says sincerely and then rolling his eyes at his own sappiness he reaches a hand between their bodies and Jack's legs squeezing the sizable package there. “This wouldn't hurt either,” he comments with a coy grin.

It makes Jack both tingle and laugh “Oh?” it's the only reply he can come up with.

“Yep, in fact it would help-” he nips and nibbles at Jack's lips teasingly “-a lot.”

“I can most definitely do that.” his deep voice drops to a husk that makes Ianto's spine tingle.

“I wouldn't ask it of anyone else,” Ianto replies truthfully and seals their lips in a passionate kiss. 

Jack soon decides to move them to his little bunk under the office and spare Tosh having to edit the CCTV footage aside from some heavy pawing. Jack wants to take his time, take things slow; to drive home not only with words but with actions that things between them will change. That he will be, dare he say it, faithful; definitely more aware of Ianto's needs, more mindful of his feelings. 

But Ianto seems to have other plans in mind. He claims to be touched by the sentiment, but that right now he wishes not to dwell on any of that. He simply wants to forget even his name and he knows Jack can do that; so tonight will be simply about releasing pent up libido and frustration. 

Still Jack focuses all his attention on his bed partner. He kisses and caresses every hot spot he knows in the pale body. His touch is passionate, firm but undemanding. He makes it a point to pay extra attention to the engorged cock, which he ignored so many times before. To look in to the blue eyes as he breached into the supine, willing body under him. To make the young man writhe with pleasure, to concentrate on his heavily accented cries of passion, to voice that his own pleasure came from none other than the younger man himself. “God Yan, so good!” and “fucking tight, you're so hot Yan!” are the counter part to the Welshman's “fuck more, deeper!” and “please Jack, don't stop, harder!” are the sounds that fill the manhole, along with groans, moans and grunts, and the wet slapping of sweat drenched flesh against flesh. And most of all, Jack makes sure to inject as much meaning as he possibly can into two syllables as he calls Ianto's name in his climax.

Lying with his head pillowed on Jacks chest, Ianto's body feels languid, sated and deliciously sore; his mind however is turning in on itself so much, and becoming so twisted that he could meet himself around a corner. Now that the libido and sexual tension had been dealt with -and damn if he wasn't a sucker for 51st century pheromones- Ianto is beginning to question what he just agreed to. But he had been so desperate, so in need of that physical contact, that could remove that heavy cloud of dark feelings from his thoughts. He had been spiraling down into the same lonesome pit he threw himself in after Lisa's death and he couldn't stand the thought of going through that again. But this time it was different, he had made his stance, he wouldn't allow it to happen again, Jack promised. He hadn't been rash, had he? 

He can tell Jack had noticed his nervous twitching and it’s not a second too late before the older man can say anything about it, Ianto makes a run for it “Coffee?” he asks and is out of bed and manhole before giving Jack the opportunity to answer. He needs to gather his tumbling thoughts if only for a moment. To convince himself he had done the right thing, that he doesn't regret it, which he really doesn't, he just needs to let it sink in, but if his subconscious is a bit paranoid and mistrusting who can blame him.

After two rounds of earth-shattering sex Jack is surprised Ianto still has energy to make coffee. Jack watches him as he moves around and about -admittedly sluggishly due to their earlier exertions- in the art of brewing, if Ianto hadn't become involved in Torchwood One he probably would've been a professional Barista, maybe even have his own coffeehouse. 

The 51st century man sighs and indulges in the warm feeling that has taken hold of him since they started kissing on the couch. He feels so incredibly sated, not only physically; but emotionally. He doesn't remember enjoying a shag so much in a long time. He had been entirely aware and in sync with the younger man. And nothing gave him so complete satisfaction like the thrill of reducing the world of his...bed partner? Lover? -he isn't entirely comfortable with the later, but they are much more than the former- to nothing other than the pleasure he is providing. To have both stroked; his cock by the tight passage inside the Welshman and his ego by the passionate reactions he coaxed out of his body and lips. 

The ex-time agent for the first time in a long time feels at peace with the world and himself. But how about Ianto, is the tea boy just as content as the pseudo American? Jack regards Ianto attentively, his posture is relaxed, his libido sated for the moment, but the older man can tell that the archivist mind is not as peaceful in post-coital bliss as Jack's is. Ianto seems guarded, apprehensive even; Jack guesses that he is probably questioning his sanity for falling into the immortal's bed again and probably into the same old routine. Jack doesn't blame him, Ianto will doubt the sincerity of Jack's proposal and the captain’s ability to abide by it, but it’s up to Jack to prove to him his intentions are true. It won't be easy; he still has a lot of groveling and charming to do. Even when sorry seems to be the hardest word, Jack has managed to salvage what might be one of the most important relationships in what will be his long life.

Ianto comes carrying two mugs and hands one to the captain as he sips his own, Industrial Strength special with whipped topping and a dash of caramel. 'Yeah we'll be okay', Jack thinks as he savors the hot beverage and it strikes him, before when he visualized Ianto and himself it was not as we; until now.

A/N: Chapter’s title/song is Good Enough by Evanescence.


	6. Same Mistakes

Things are going pretty good. Though Ianto has yet to initiate any of their intimacies and those that Jack instigates are by far a lot less than before. But because of it all their encounters are a lot more satisfying. Ianto seems more at ease and relaxed, the playful snark is back, but Jack can't help but to feel a little disappointed. The archivist isn't more forthcoming than before, but honestly what had he expected; that every time they are alone the young man would spew out his whole life story chapter by chapter. Certainly not, Ianto is a very private person. 

There is so much the captain would like to know about the Welshman, but in his carelessness he had lost countless opportunities to ask when the occasions arouse. Like if he wore suits in honor to his father being a master tailor – when he bought Gwen's new wedding dress had been the only time Ianto has referred to his family at all. Or what was the reason behind the shifting eyes when he admitted he knew of Providence Park Psychiatric Hospital where Christina was – what surprised Jack is that he wasn't surprised. He isn't even sure where the younger man lives. But the 51st century man can't bring himself to ask any of these questions it all seems too personal somehow. And the captain can't demand the tea boy to open up when he himself remains an enigma; Jack isn't exactly an information center when it comes to himself. So it means Jack will have to learn to read Ianto, as good as Ianto is in reading the immortal, like an open book -a children's book at that, that uncanny is his ability to predict the pseudo American's needs. All in all Jack can't complain and he hopes Ianto doesn't find a reason either.

And then Gwen decides to embark on another one of her crusades. The tension rises between the captain and the Welshwoman and it makes Ianto nervous, since it is that same tenacity that caught Jack's attention to begin with. Ianto has nothing against her. He likes her well enough, even if he finds her to be a little over dramatic at times. It must be nice to retain so much innocence even after facing the reality of the rift, as harsh at it may be at times. Just like Jack and everyone else in the team, Ianto too wants to preserve that childish wonder in her eyes in those rare occasions when the rift gifts them with something not so much so terrifying, if not tragic. He even envies her capacity of empathy and sympathy. He admires her courage, determination, her leadership, he acknowledges her potential and intuition, they even make a great field team her and he. But naivety can only get you so far, and they can only protect her from so much. So when she decides to search for the missing rift victims Ianto backs her up and interceded for her before Jack. Of course given their particular circumstances to anyone it would seem like Ianto was taking the opportunity to cause hurt to the Welshwoman out of some kind of grudge for the grievances she caused in the relationship between the tea boy and the captain. But that is not his intention; and so he is taken aback and offended that Jack would suggest such a thing, albeit in not so many words, when Ianto tries to appeal her case before the immortal.

The will clash turns the air thick in the conference room and the staring contest makes the rest of the team want to scurry away. Practical Owen sides with Jack, Tosh sympathizes with Gwen but agrees there isn't much they can do, they have enough to deal with to add counseling to their responsibilities. Jack is in his boss mode; it's not that he doesn't care; like she claims. It's that he is trying to shelter her from the uglier side of the rift –as impossible as that may seem when you have weevils, Nostrovites and risen mittens coming at you in daily basis. Exposing her to the rift victims would affect her greatly and the captain can't stand to see that innocence flicker and die a little more. Why can't she understand it's for her own good .It would imply exposing Torchwood and alien threat to a lot of civilians, Jack can't allow that, not to mention it be too cruel. He is even more annoyed when Ianto approaches him in behave of Gwen.

"Jack maybe you should reconsider," Ianto suggests.

"And what? Take her to Flat Holm like it's a fieldtrip to a museum. It's a freak show Ianto, you know that!" Jack snaps.

"You know she will keep pushing. It's a reality you can't shelter her from. It's something she wants to know, keeping her in the dark won't give her peace of mind," he tries to reason.

"And knowing will? It would only hurt her, why would I want that? Why do you?"

Ianto pretends not to notice the accusation.

"Fine, don't take her there, but at least explain it to her!" the tea boy insists annoyed.

Jack's had enough he takes his stand as captain and draws the line. "No I'm not telling her anything and neither are you. Make sure your lips are sealed, that's an order," he hisses and leaves.

Ianto sees Jack storm off leaving a frustrated tea boy standing outside the conference room. He can't tell her, fair enough, but he can point her in the right direction. Jack will be furious; it will be the devil to pay. Trying not to dwell on the captain's retribution for disobeying an order –however indirectly- Ianto goes to program his GPS.

After leaving the "boy scout mission" on Gwen's desk, the archivist turns his efforts to lifting Jack's mood, surely nothing a little industrial strength coffee and a game or two of naked hide and seek can't remedy. Sure enough once alone in the Hub, Ianto takes an extra-large mug to Jack, it would do wonders to mellow the immortal's mood. Ianto hesitates as he wonders what he should do next weighing his options. Situations like the one today had always led Jack to envision Gwen in his bed; but maybe the surprise of Ianto initiating a sexual approach would redirect his thoughts, and Jack had promised. 

Making up his mind and gathering his courage Ianto waits for Jack to finish his coffee and a phone call to one UNIT general or other. Squaring his shoulders the tea boy approaches the 51st century man as he loosens his tie and leans a hip on the edge of the desk. The captain watches him avidly with curiosity and apprehension, unsure if he should respond to the younger man's advances or wait for Ianto to set the pace of their encounter. The tea boy is grateful for that show of restrain on Jacks part; it means that the older man is keeping in mind Ianto's needs not only his own. The archivist loops his tie around Jack's neck and pulls the immortal to meet his lips in a passionate kiss. As their tongues dance, Ianto struggles to remove his jacket, once he is free off it he breaks the kiss and gives Jack a mischievous grin.

"You are it!" he says in a mix of husk and boyish playfulness and tosses his jacket over Jacks head. Laughing he sprints out of the office as he throws off his waistcoat, tugs out his shirt and then unhooks his belt as he goes to 'hide'. Naked hide and seek, it's only a shame it didn't last very long though. Jack found and caught him soon enough in the green house, maybe he shouldn't have left a trail of garments to follow. Ianto laughs as Jack winds his powerful arms around his waist, effectively trapping him and preventing any escape attempts.

"You were supposed to count to ten!" he accuses, the joy making his vowels lilt with the heavy accent.

"I did," replies the captain with a shit-eating grin that makes Ianto rolls his eyes.

"Before you came looking you Oaf!" he corrects good-naturedly, lacing his arms around Jack's neck.

"I don't remember that rule," Jack feigns innocence playfully nipping the younger man's lips.

"It's convenient" Ianto's hands deftly unbutton the American's shirt, pushing it pass the big shoulders "when you are the one to invent the game," he deepens the kiss and soon their tongues are warring, hands frantically tugging at clothes, mapping out hot skin.

They are so caught up in each other; they don't hear the alarm wailing the arrival of a newcomer.

"Oh God!" it's the exclamation that gives them pause as Gwen walks in for a second round of head butting, and finds them in a very compromising position. Namely naked torsos, Jacks hands squeezing Ianto's ass, and Inato's hand down the front on Jack's pants; as they engage in a messy lip lock, akin to tonsil hockey. Ianto hasn't felt so embarrassed and mortified in his life, and scrambles to gather his shirt and hurries after Gwen, to apologies, to explain, or to will her to understand, he isn't sure. What he knows is that he can't let her leave like so. He knows she has feelings for Jack, and though it's not a secret that Ianto and Jack share office, coffee and sex; seeing it with her own eyes most smart. He wants to reassure her, apologize, tell her of the package on her desk and forget it ever happened. But Jack also had to follow, he has to come swaggering out of the greenhouse, shirt open, hard on bulging noticeably in his pants, and exuding pheromones that make Ianto dizzy.

"Always room for one more" he says it so casually yet seriously that it cuts through Ianto; he hangs his head and busies himself in buttoning and tugging his shirt in, making himself more presentable before the Welshwoman.

"We could've used you for naked hide and seek" is the lewd comment the captain directs at her and Ianto tries not to wince at the mental image.

"He cheats, he always cheats" " Ianto tries to hide his discomfort and lighten the tension to no avail; as he now stands, trapped between them in the narrow catwalk as the two wills clash for a second time today. So much for distractions.

When Jack calls him back in, Ianto hesitates out the door; not only to tell Gwen about the package on her desk, but because he isn't sure he wants to be in there alone with Jack. Not when he is thinking of how pissed he is at Gwen and sex at the same time, that never bode well for the archivist. Once he steps in Jack has already removed his shirt again and it's waiting expectantly for Ianto. All the playfulness of five minutes ago completely gone, now there is an affronted alpha male air about him; still the tea boy approaches the captain, maybe having the ex-time agent remove his clothes again will cool him down and make him concentrate on Ianto instead of Gwen. But the look Jack gives his re-clothed frame -as if to say 'who told you to get dressed'- makes the young man pause. He grows even more uncertain and whatever part of his erection that hadn't die down with the awkwardness of being caught, has now completely deflated.

"Coffee?" he offers and dashed out of the greenhouse and down to his coffee station without waiting for a reply from the captain. As he prepares to brew he notices Gwen is long gone as well as the package, at least something went right.

Jack looks confused at Inato's quickly retreating back, and scoffs unbelieving. Was it something he said? The captain grumbles as he wonders what went wrong. Weren't they supposed to have sex? He had been so thrilled that Ianto had finally come on to him on his own. So why has the younger man made an exit left stage? Everything had been going perfect until Gwen caught them getting started, both the Welsh had been embarrassed, Jack can only imagine how it would've been like if she had walked in on them 'further along' in the game. But as inconsequential as it may be for Jack –who possess no inhibitions- it surely made Ianto a little more than uncomfortable. Jack cusses, she had to come along and kill the mood, if only she would've waited until the morning to declare her independent research. He can't really blame Ianto; the little show down on the catwalk had put a damper in Jack's mood too.

The captain pauses replaying the conversation and this time he curses at himself. How can he be such an idiot? Gwen didn't kill Ianto's libido, Jack did. 'Always room for one more' that's what he had said; he hadn't thought about it, it was so normal, so Jack. The flirting, the innuendo, it came naturally to him. He didn't stop to think what he was saying, to whom he was saying it, or in front of whom. He had behaved like he always did, masking irritation under sexual tension; thus making the Welshman believe he was going to do as he had done in the pass months, conjure up the source of his irritation over the factotum and fuck it until it ceased to annoy him. 

The 51st century man can't believe it, he cock-blocked himself with his 'innocent' but seemly inappropriate flirting. This is ridiculous and preposterous, hadn't he promised Ianto he wouldn't do it again. Ianto can't backpedal from sex every time the American has issues with someone else. It seems Jack needs to re-ascertain Ianto that his only focus as a bed partner is, indeed, none other than the aforementioned tea boy himself. This tiptoeing game ends now "Ianto!" he calls, then decides he can't wait until the young man is done hiding behind his coffee brewing machine and marches out of the greenhouse. "IANTO!" he bellows impatient as he makes his way to meet said man at the main part of the Hub.

The captain decides he needs to be careful. Not to approach the subject directly, but show with his actions that neither Gwen nor anyone has a hold in his mind when Ianto and he have sex. To make Ianto understand that the argument in the catwalk stays there; that it left with the Welshwoman's departure and that it wouldn't follow into their bed. To get his point across all he has to do is not bring it up to the tea boy. So Jack decides to pick up where they left off.

Ianto tries to focus his attention on pouring the coffee, pretends he is not watching Jack as he makes his way towards him; not knowing what enthralled him more, the sway of his broad shoulders or of his narrow hips. That he is not tempted by the chiseled chest and the toned abs; all wrapped in that light tanned skin topped with the two peaked dark caramel nipples. He hopes he can hide his anxiety and uncertainty better than he can hide his desire and need for the older man. It has always been so hard for him to mask the effect of those pheromones have on him, ever since the first time they met. But he has always been a master of hiding his thoughts and emotions and he is sure that his face is a blank slate by the time Jack has reached the coffee station. But when Ianto hands Jack a mug, and he puts it aside, the younger man isn't so sure anymore. He can't help but eye the captain when he leans a hip on the table, crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at Ianto. The blue eyes bore into him with a gaze so intense it makes the archivist averts his own down to the mug in his hand.

"You bailed" Jack accused, but the tone was off, it sounded amused.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," he feigned ignorance, sporting his most innocent looking face, wondering what is Jack playing at. Ianto prides himself in reading the immortal better than anyone in the past, present, dead or alive; but right now he can't gauge his mood so he braces for the worst.

"Naked hide and seek? I did found you, you know the rules," he said cockily, raising his eyebrows suggestively, in his eyes a hungry gaze, a wolfish grin on his lips to match. This is not what Ianto had expected, but he is more than relief about Jack's change of mood.

"Oh, now you remember the rules," trying to hide his hope and excitement at the prospect of Jack keeping his promise behind a coy smile. Giving in to the delicious shudder that runs the length of his spine as the 51st century man wraps his arms around him.

"I did invent them," the self-indulgence makes Ianto chuckle and shake his head in amusement.

"Come on Ianto, it started as a great evening," he says in a softer coaxing tone. "let's finish it that way," the words whispered in his ear sooth him. Whatever doubts that might have remained melt away as Jack presses their bodies together from groin to chest. At the feeling of Jack's arousal against his hip, the warm skin under his hands and the smell of musk Ianto throws his caution to the wind and without the need of more cajoling crushes their lips together in an almost violent kiss.

Jack gives a mental sigh of relief himself. He managed to salvage this evening and maybe even reassure Ianto of the legitimacy of his intentions. Their kissing is hungry and sloppy but Jack is not about to offer a change of pace, this is how Ianto had planned their night and Jack would keep with the program. He bears down on Ianto driving them back against the table, the coffee brewer rattles ominously, their forgotten mugs falling with a clatter, chipping the porcelain and spilling the hot beverage on the floor. For once Ianto doesn't care about the mess; Jack keeping him well distracted with his large hands caressing the pale flanks, his mouth traveling down the jawline. In turn the younger man's hands tangle in his hair as he tilts his head back exposing that delicious throat for Jack to ravish. The American feels the growing bulge of Ianto's arousal and grinds their hips together, providing the much desired friction on their swelling flesh.

"Jack!" the heated gasp and the bucking under him make Jack moan and he tries to lift the smaller man onto the table, seeking leverage for more friction. The cluttered mugs, plates and cans of coffee beans rattle in protest of losing what little space they have, pushing and digging into Ianto's back.

"Wait, uhn, Jack…not enough space," the younger protests pushing Jack away to slide off the table.

The brief interruption by technical difficulties makes Jack groan low in his throat, but he doesn't suggest they 'make space' by pushing all the china to the floor. Instead he agrees and with a growl maneuvers Ianto away from the table. But without a surface to lean on they find it difficult to purchase balance, their tangled limbs stumbling and swaying erratically. Still they manage to rid each other of clothes, as they bumped around the work stations -more organizing to do later- but at the moment none of them cared much for their co-workers desks. Finally frustrated by their clumsy bumbling Jack takes Ianto up by his thighs forcing the tea boy to wrap his legs around the captain's waist, a hiss escapes them as their heated cocks rub together, the pre-cum mixing and making for wonderful slick friction. The sensation makes Ianto buck and thrust with abandon against Jack’s hips, almost making the taller man drop him as he carries him to the couch under the Torchwood logo.

Jack sits on the sofa, Ianto straddling his lap; with a solid surface to anchor them and off their feet they can now concentrate on the ministrations being dealt and reciprocated. Jack's lips latch onto Ianto's sensitive nipples, and his hands drag blunt nails down the pale back; as the younger man wraps one hand around both their grinding erections, making both of them moan in appreciation. The husky sounds of Jack's passion always egged Ianto on, made him bolder; this time is no different and Jack is not surprised when the archivist slides down the length of Jack's body. The Welshman ends on his knees between Jack's spread legs and he wastes no time in engulfing the engorged column in his mouth. Jack gasps and bucks in pleasure, his hands dragging through Ianto's hair encouragingly.

"Fuck Ianto!" the immortal's pleasure by means of that crafty tongue and those plush lips only escalates at the site of Ianto's head bobbing above his groin. Watching this dick disappear into that hot wetness, to reappear slicked with rapidly cooling dampness.

Ianto can feel Jack's intense gaze on him, watching as he sucks on the leaking cock. The younger man lifts his own eyes to meet Jack's and watches in satisfaction as the older man's lids flutter at a particularly sensuous swipe of the tongue around the sensitive glans. A slight drag of blunt teeth over the shaft have the ex-time agent panting harshly, his hold on Ianto's hair tightening considerably; so much so he decides to stop wilts he'd have his hair torn out by accident. The moment the prick falls out of his mouth with a soft 'pop', Jack leans down and kisses him roughly, his tongue trusting into that mouth the same way his cock did a moment ago.

"Lube," is the only word that the American seems to be able to utter, and it's said with such demanding urgency that it makes Ianto tremble in anticipation. Ianto groans as he peals himself away from Jack and reaches for his pants, producing a small lube bottle from a pocket, always at the ready.

Impatiently Jack pulls Ianto to straddle his lap again. This time the tea boy kneels on the couch, his back to the captain, who takes the lube from him and quickly makes use of the slippery lotion to slick his fingers. Ianto retrieves it and pours the cool liquid on his palm, he leans forward one hand bracing on Jack’s knee as the other reaches between his parted thighs to grasp the captains large cock spreading the lube all over it.

Taking advantage of Ianto's slightly bent position, Jack's fingers set on the task of slicking and stretching the ring of muscles. One finger then two; swirling, scissoring; in no time Ianto is thrusting back on Jack's digits. Jack doesn't mind that his aching and lubed up prick lays forgotten against his thigh, not when he has Ianto bent over before him, both arms bracing support on his knees, head hanging forward moaning and wringing on his fingers thrust up as far in as they would go. Jack can't resist the mouthwatering site and leans to plant kisses and nibbles on the round soft globes encompassing his fingers.

"Jack! Fuck, more Jack, hnnng!" the accent of heavy lilting vowels drive Jack beyond what he can take and pulling his fingers free –which makes Ianto whimper in protest- he wraps his large hands on the young man's hips and guides the pale arse back onto his groin.

Ianto helps along holding Jack's throbbing cock up to his quivering entrance and with a shuddering breath he lowers himself swiftly to the hilt onto Jack's member. They both moan heavily and long, Ianto shifts around making Jack groan with the sweet torture of the passage rippling around him. The Welshman braces his feet on the couch, now effectively squatting over Jack's groin, with both legs firmly planted he starts the age old rhythm, easily sliding up and down the hot shaft piercing him in the most intimate of places.

Jack wraps his arms around the lean torso, helping lift Ianto's weight up and then to bore it down onto himself, snapping his hips up to meet the thrust halfway. Ianto maintained a steady pace, interrupted occasionally to grind down, in a rotating matter that had Jack swearing his dick would melt. Soon the archivist increases his tempo, slamming himself down on the drilling cock hard and fast, moaning, groaning loudly, and leaving Jack gasping harshly.

"Jesus Ianto! Damn just like that!" But amidst all this growing passion Jack frowns at the site before him. And suddenly he decides he wants to see more than Ianto's back, he wants to see his face, his expression as he takes his pleasure on him. Without warning he lifts the tea boy off him; his efforts earned him a string of Welsh swearing and a glare.

"What the fuck Jack" it is almost a whine, laced more with desperate need than anger.

"I want to see you," is the only explanation the immortal offers as he maneuvers them around; lying himself flat on his back along the length of the sofa, then bringing Ianto atop him again, this time facing the captain.

"Now you can ride me and I can see your face Ianto," he said as matter of fact making Ianto blush.

Ianto takes Jack into himself again, hissing at being filled once more. The new position has him with his knees bent under him at Jack's sides again but, it allows for him to brace his weight on his arms at either side of Jack's head. Like this it's harder to bounce on the cock up his arse, so he settles for rocking his hips and finds he prefers it this way. He can bore down easier and it aims Jack's cock forward easily; repeatedly brushing, pressing or poking his prostate depending on the rhythm of his swaying hips. He quickly picks up where he was so rudely interrupted; impaling himself so deeply onto Jacks cock that he can feel it behind his navel with every push back. It makes him cry out loudly, in both English and Welsh.

The immortal watch avidly as Ianto's face contorts in pleasure, sweat soaked hair plaster to his brow, eyes shut tightly, mouth agape as he struggles to breath; and he wonders how could he had want to imagine something else that wasn't this enthralling spectacle performed solely for him. It's enough to make him want to explode then and there.

"Ianto, hnnm, Ianto" he is vaguely aware he is repeating himself but there is nothing else he can say for there is nothing else he can see, save this beautiful young man riding him to take his pleasure as he gives it back tenfold. He can feel Ianto's passage clench around him, the sweet friction against the tight slick muscles soon have him bucking up against the rider. Drilling into him hard and fast matching Ianto's desperate erratic pace.

"God, Jack harder! Shit, deeper!" And Jack is relieved, that means Ianto is as close to completions as he is. Unable to last much longer, Jack considers taking Ianto's cock in his hand; but before he can reach for the hard, reddened shaft bobbing between them Ianto tenses and trembles.

"Aaaahh! Ja- Jack!" he cries hoarsely and spunk oozes out the slit of the untouched cock, pooling warm and thick on Jack's stomach.

The tunnel clamps down almost painfully on Jack's throbbing member and he spills within Ianto; pulling him down, buried balls deep as his cock squirts cum on the unyielding walls imprisoning his dick.

Ianto slumps on top of Jack. Trying to catch his breath and will his heart to slow down and stop rushing blood to his ears. The dizzy sluggishness he is not going to fight it, it's no use when breathing in Jack's heady scent. As he comes down from his climax, he begins to take note of the 'mess' they've made. Clothes strewn everywhere, the papers that where on Owen's workstation littler on the floor, the spilt coffee and broken mugs, not to mention the editing on the CCTV footage –so Tosh won't… gouge her eyes out, blackmail him or masturbate to them, he can't quite decide which is more likely. His thoughts are brought to a halt by Jack's arms wrapping warmly around him.

"Stop it with the OCD, we'll clean up later, just relax for once," Jack admonishes gently, sounding sated and content.

Ianto looks mildly surprise at Jack's guessing his thoughts, but nods in agreement.

"You know, we should do it like this more often. Boy you can move!" he compliments lewdly. 

Ianto laughs. "I take it you liked it,"

"Liked it?" Jack snorts at the understatement "don't be surprised if you find yourself in this 'position' more often than not," he chuckles at Ianto's blush.

"You are amazing," he adds more seriously and reaches to plant a tender kiss on the younger man's brow.

‘Let's see if you still think that tomorrow,’ Ianto thinks gloomily, shivering at how Jack will react when he finds out the tea boy sent Gwen directly to Flat Holm Island.

Jack notices the shiver and mistaking it for a chill he rubs his hands on Ianto's back for warmth. The Welshman decides he will indulge in this rare tender moment with the captain, no matter what tomorrow may bring, for now lying in this ‘just been fucked glow’ with Jack is good enough.

A/N: Chapter’s title song is Same Mistake by James Blunt


	7. Underneath

The next day, much to Jack’s dismay, Ianto seems hesitant; a bit unsure and nervous around the captain. He hopes Ianto doesn’t doubt his motives last night. So he decides to check on the tea boy, if there are any doubts or misunderstandings brewing in the young man’s mind it’d be best to clear them as soon as possible.

As he comes out of his office he frowns and looks around. Tosh is at her station typing away eyes glued to her numerous screens and monitors. Owen is down at the autopsy bay. He spots Ianto coming out of the archives, but…

“Where is Gwen?” he asks aloud, to their credit all three stop in their tracks and look around as if only noticing her absence now that he pointed it out. 

“She hasn’t come in yet,” Tosh informs him.

That really puzzles Jack he expected Gwen to stump into his office first thing in the morning to have another head-butting match with him about the people missing in the rift. Tosh and Owen go back to their tasks. However the captain notices Ianto falters, eyes shifting nervously, the way they do when he knows more than he is letting on. The 51st century man gives him a meaningful look in askance. The Welshman bites his lips and shrugs a shoulder guiltily, meeting Jack’s gaze sheepishly. 

And it dawns on Jack. He glares furiously at the younger man. Ianto seems to internally flinch and shrink back into himself, but returns the ex-time agent’s glare with a determined look of his own. Jack’s jaw tenses and he grits his teeth, he points a menacing finger at Ianto promising repercussions. Then he pushes past him to his office, dons his coat and storms out of the Hub. 

Ianto runs a hand through his hair as he watches Jack leave and he lets out a defeated sigh. He becomes aware of Tosh and Owen staring at him brows raise in expectation, reminding him that the silent exchange didn’t go unnoticed. The tea boy shakes his head dismissing their curiosity and turns on his heels retreating back to the archives.

At his return, Jack decides he is not going to interfere. He’ll let Gwen do as she wants and he’ll wait for what he knows is the obvious outcome before he confronts Ianto. He’ll let him stew in uncertainty before taking actions for his blatant disregard of Jack’s orders concerning Gwen and Flat Holm Island. 

When Gwen returns with a defeated air around her, and starts to pack all her research; despondence marking her every move, Jack knows things went as he feared.

“Ianto!” he booms loudly, beckoning the younger man to his office. 

The Welshman gives Gwen a sympathetic, worried glance, then squaring his shoulders he fallows the captain. Closing the door behind him he faces Jack, resigned to accept his fate for disobeying orders; wondering if it would remain at a professional level or extent to a personal one. Jack sits behind his desk, arms resting on the top, hands clasps. Ianto remains standing. 

“She seems to have found resolution; though there is a lot to be said about peace of mind wouldn’t you agree?” Jack says in a deceivingly conversational tone; throwing Ianto’s words back at him.

Ianto doesn’t bother to dignify the sarcasm with an answer. Jack doesn’t offer him a sit, so he doesn’t take one. They stare stone still, unmoving. Jack rigidly tense, exuding angry dominance; nose drills flaring, arms now crossed over his massive chest, bright eyes glaring. Ianto stands calm, face blank, hands claps loosely before him. His pose is open, unchallenging; but not exactly submissive, he refuses to be intimidated. 

“Are you satisfied now?! Did it go as planned?” Jack finally says his tone deliberate and accusing. 

Ianto looks at him disappointedly, three sentences since he walked through the door and Jack has already made it personal. 

“That’s not fair Jack, don’t make it out like I have something personal against Gwen,” he interjects trying to appease the storm before it hits, though it might be too late. 

“Then what should I make it out to be? Why else did you send her there, when I specifically ordered you not to?” the captain demands through gritted teeth.

“Exactly, you ordered me. I challenged your authority as the commanding officer. You should focus on that and not if I wanted or not to cause her harm. This is strictly a professional matter between you and me, not a personal one between her and me,” Ianto clarifies irritably, trying to put things in the proper perspective for the affronted American.

“Fine then, what made you think you could outrank me?” Jack challenges. “Outrank everyone and demine my decisions,” he adds with a little spite. 

Ianto bristles. He knows Jack is doing it deliberately, reminding Ianto that regardless to all of his uses and responsibilities, he is the Torchwood member of lowest rank, fallowed only by Mayfawn and Janet. But as much as the barb stings he is not falling for it, he is determined to keep this at a laboral level.

“I believe it was the best course of action. She wanted to know, it would take more than your clamming up or physical intimidation to make her drop the disappearance cases, even before she learned the rift was involved. Once she made that connection it was a losing battle against her crusade, nothing short of Retcon would have worked. And her single mindedness beats even that,” Ianto tries to sound calm and reasonable.

“You don’t know that. It was my problem to deal with, not something for you to get your manipulative hands into,” Jack snarls menacingly. 

“Actually I believe I should have a say in it,” the archivist insists.

“Why!” 

“Because I run Flat Holms, Jack,” he says dead serious while Jack looks outraged. Ianto stops him before he can object to the claim. “It may be under your name, your signatures on the checks, but tell me when was the last time you checked the books, the residents’ files, and the supply inventory. Apart from your occasional visits and weekly reports from Helen, you have nothing to do with the place if you can help it. You dumped it on me, so I do have a say,” even in saying this there is no accusation in his tone, he simply state the facts in that bland but smart way of his. 

“Why show her?” Jack asks again, though the feral temper is toned down a few notches by the young man’s prior argument.

“If Gwen truly is your 2IC, I believe she should know. Or is that position limited to barking orders in the field and antagonizing you at every turn? Shouldn’t it also apply to administrative matters?” he states matter-of-factly, returning the ranks jab at the captain.

“There is no need with me here to handle it,” Jack counters.

“Right, because you’ve never got stuck in 1940’s chasing after you name sake. You never died and stayed dead for almost a week, nor have you ever disappeared for months a time,” he doesn’t manage to keep the resentment completely out on this one, sarcasm dripping from his lilting accent daring Jack to deny all the occasions that the tea boy had to take reigns of Torchwood’s administration. 

“She was not ready!” Jack shout- hisses jumping to his feet and banging a fist on his desk. He’s running out of reasons to defend his stance. 

“And I was?!” Ianto spat back unable to contain the flare of his temper, it makes the older man pause, not knowing what to say. “At least she had you there with her, I didn’t have that comfort,” he adds in a placating tone.

“The effect it had on you is not the same as it has on her,” Jack knows it’s the wrong thing to say but he can’t back down.

“You weren’t here, so don’t presume to know,” he says darkly. “I couldn’t sleep for weeks after going there for the first time. Not only for the state of the patients, but with worry on how to keep the place running when you upped and left. There were no records, no files, no found source I could trace,” his tone is pleading, willing the obtuse immortal to understand him.

“Still you managed and you didn’t tell Gwen back then, you didn’t tell any of them,” this time it is not a demand or an accusation, there might be even a little remorse in it. 

“They were pissed off as it was; they all had enough shit to deal with. Imagine what they would’ve thought of you, if they found out you left those poor people as stranded as you left us,” another bland but smart fact.

It made Jack shiver, that would have knocked him down from his subordinates’ ‘fearless leader and hero’ pedestal. Thank god Gwen had yet to make that particular connection; she thought badly enough of him at the moment. 

“Besides, Gwen had created an illusion of control, I was not going to shatter it,” Ianto elaborates. “She really believed she had taken charge and kept cohesion within the team. I am not so cruel as to take that small comfort from her. In truth her bossing around was only a formality. Owen, Tosh and I have been at this long enough to know our duties with no need to be told what to do to work as a team, nor to keep Torchwood functional to optimum capability,” 

Jack listens carefully; he thinks this is the most he has heard Ianto talk about anything at a single time. If their situation would have been other, he would be transfixed by the fluctuating character of the younger man, he could tell you something with true emotion exposing his true self; and the next line would be delivered with impersonal formality, the butler persona taking over his mannerism and tone. The 51st century man remains quiet; if he just listens he might learn something today. 

“Yes I managed,” Ianto continues softly, apparently encouraged by Jack’s reflexive silence. “And I still do alongside you, but if you are not here Flat Holms is a responsibility I can’t shoulder on my own,” 

He had only managed to do so with Jack’s complete salary, half of his own and other founds readjustments, not to mention putting in more extra hours than he already did, in occasions working thirty six to forty eight hours or more at a time. It had been an extremely taxing time for him, not like the others noticed or Jack asked, no, no-one did. But even if they don’t know of that particular trial, it’s a time Ianto doesn’t care to repeat so he insist hoping Jack would now understand why he did what he did.

“Again Jack, as your 2IC the time may come that I might need her help. I acknowledge I knew it would affect her, but that is not why I showed her, Jack,” he reasons. 

“All I want to know, Ianto, is why?” Jack says again this time in a calm and gentle tone.

“I just… haven’t you been listening to a word I said,” disbelief and irritation paint his features. 

“I hear what you are saying,” Jack interjects rising his hands in a placating gesture. “But I also know you a bit more then you give me credit for Ianto,” he adds walking around his desk. Now face to face with the younger man, he hitches a hip on the desk and looks earnestly into the soft blue eyes. “For real this time Ianto, why?” 

Ianto sighs shakily; he slumps in a chair running both hands down his face, then through his hair. 

“She was so adamant about it, sheltering her wouldn’t have worked. Undoubtedly the experience would change her, but I know her sympathy would protect her, her empathic nature would prevent any lasting damage, prevent her from turning into someone like Owen, Tosh or me, it wouldn’t make her emotionally cold, and clinically insensible,” he gives a self-deprecating smile.

Jack reaches for Ianto’s face, lifting his chin to look the captain in the eyes.

“Ultimately it’d help her mature. It’d make her understand Torchwood operates in many levels. That we do more than catch and kill aliens. Letting her see, would teach her that with the rift come a lot more responsibilities, that the collateral damage is greater than she thinks. It’s not contained only to our physical injuries, traumatized psyche, or personal life, not even to the poor sods that get caught in the crossfire, but much further than,” he hesitates biting his lips.

Jack nods encouraging him to continue, “Why?” 

“It would remind her that she is not the only human in the Hub, that we… that you, Jack, are in fact a caring human being and not just some cold blooded, alien killing hero, that you can’t fix everything,” he said as if disgusted by the very idea of reducing Jack to such simplistic role. 

It makes Jack remember the look of fear in her eyes, her backing away from him; in that moment she had not revered him as a hero, but as an evil villain and it hurt.

“That is not for you to decide,” the immortal says harshness returning to his tone and features.

“No, perhaps not; but certainly not for the sake of her sensibilities, but your own,” he knows that is what this is about; Helen had phoned him and told him about the Welshwoman hysteric reaction. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jack challenges temper rising quickly. 

Ianto gives him a look that clearly says the captain knows what he meant. He stands again back straight, face blank; this is going nowhere so he might as well get it done and over with.

“I take full responsibility for my actions and their consequences. Your disciplinary measure, Sir?” his demeanor is stiflingly formal and professional. 

Jack would’ve made a snide remark about booth camp role play, if he weren’t for pissed at Ianto’s blatant dismissal of further discussion on the subject.

“Two weeks suspension effective as of now,” Jack says grudgingly. He sits behind his desk glaring at the archivist as he surrenders his Torchwood credentials, code passes and his assigned weapon with a cool calmness that only serves to piss the captain even more. 

On his way to the door Ianto pauses and looks back at Jack. “I’m sorry if she hurt you,” he says with sincere remorse and left the office. 

Jack slams his hand on the desk in suppressed anger and barely manages to contain the urge to throw something against the wall. 

Ianto closes his eyes and breaths deeply, that didn’t go well but then again what had he expected. He moves about collecting his coat and keys. Owen calls for him as he passes the autopsy bay. 

“Oi! Tea boy how about some caffeine service before your errands,” the thought of saying please or that whatever Ianto might need to do is more important that his coffee fix never passed the medic’s mind, Ianto is used to it enough that it doesn’t even warrant rolling his eyes. 

“Sorry Owen, I’m afraid that will be on Jack for now, a while and then some. And frankly I wouldn’t drink anything he brews if I were you. That can only end in tears and a stomach flush, I for one won’t be making the same mistake again,” he says loudly to Owen as he makes his way to the Clog Wheel and out of the Hub.


	8. Little Talks

By the end of the 4th day a disgruntled Owen marches into Jack’s office. The medic stands, hands on hips and eyes narrowed glaring at the captain. Jack looks up at him from the report he is working on and raises a puzzled brow; at a lost as to what has got the irritable man so grumpy.

“How long will he be gone?” he states without preamble.

“Two weeks,” Jack answers impassively.

“What! Ten more days of this,” –what ‘this’ is Jack isn’t sure but has an educated guess- “that’s low even for you Harkness,” Owen scorns slouching in a chair in front of Jack’s desk.

Yup Jack surely knows what he means by that. In giving Ianto suspension he is punishing the rest of the team first. Depriving them of coffee and making them take turns in doing the numerous tasks that belong to the archivists. Which include but are not limited to, feeding weevils, cleaning their cells, as well as Mayfawn and her nest, research, filing, clean-up and cover-up operations, ordering take out and generally tiding up after all of them. The Welshman’s punishment would begin once he returned and had two weeks’ worth of reorganizing the archives and cleaning the hub into some semblance of order suited to his OCD tendencies. 

“I don’t believe I need to discuss disciplinary actions with you Owen, all you need to know is that it’s justified,” the immortal says tersely, Owen snorts.

“Oh please! Come off it Harkness, Gwen told us what happened,”

“What?!” 

“That’s right, your Flat Holm Island little secret is out. So I suggest you prepare either a tour or a very detailed briefing about the place,” the doctor says casually.

“Then you know and understand that Ianto disobeyed a direct ordered and ignored the chain of command,” Jack’s patience is being tried. 

Owen snorts again, if amused or disgusted is something Jack hasn’t learn to discern yet.

“Since when has that meant anything around here? Aside from making you king of piss contest if only by the size –Jack gives him a lewd smile, Owen’s eyes narrow in warning- of your ego. I can’t and don’t want to attest to and refuse to believe rumors about the size of your dick,”

“Jealous?” Jack teased.

“You wish!” then he regards the captain seriously again. “We’ve all crossed that line and you never did anything about it, why set an example with tea boy?”

“It’s the third time he’s stabbed me in the back,” Jack reasons.

Owen rolls his eyes. “You are a real git, that’s unfair and you know it. This doesn’t compare. Yeah he hid his cyber psycho girl in the basement, and even so all he did was socker you one –which was a rather impressive right hook- but he’d never harm us, all he did was plea, begged for your help to save Lisa. We’ve all done the same or worse, Tosh for Mary, Gwen for Rhys on numerous occasions, and I for Diane, and the second one it was a mutiny led by me so you can’t blame that on him,” Owen reminds the ex-time agent about their worst transgressions. 

“I know this is not in the same scale, but still he demined my decision,” Jack insists, though he admits to himself he sounds like a broken record. 

“So what? Gwen and I challenge your self- proclaimed authority on daily basis, she has clashed with you and acted against your orders; getting herself or someone else hurt or almost killed, more times than anyone cares to count, including this time around. Besides tea boy might as well outrank us all, God knows he bloody well runs the damn place,” he adds nonchalantly with a shrug.

Jack doesn’t know if he refers to the Hub or to Flat Holm, but the statement might be true in both cases, he can’t continue to argue against a fact that even Owen accepts.  
“You just want out of weevil duty,” Jack says knowingly.

“Damn right I do, and some descent coffee,” he admits unabashedly, Jack laughs agreeing. “So call Ianto back, you pin the blame on him, but Gwen disobeyed your order to stop digging for the Johna boy first. She got what was coming to her in a way,” the smaller man said without remorse. 

“It wasn’t his decision to make,” Jack rebukes, all humor gone. 

“Stop kidding yourself Harkness. You know what I think this is about?” Owen has had enough of the captain self-righteousness when it comes to Ianto. “It’s about your damn prideful ego,” the medic spat at him.

“What?” Jack blurts, just what the hell Owen means by that.

“The truth is you like your shags docile and pliant, the kid grows a pair and you run him out and put him in time out to put him back in line. I personally like them feisty. That is the difference between us, the reason you went after Ianto and never put the moves on Gwen as I did. It was not out of respect to her relationship with good old Rhys. It’s because she is too fierce, too independent for your alpha tendencies,” he states like it was a well-known fact that only Jack was stupid enough to miss. 

Jack is baffled and reeling, surely he couldn’t be serious, and one thing had nothing to do with the other, had it?

“If now that tea boy has bared his fangs you don’t want him I could take him off of your hands,” he offers. 

Jack can’t tell if Owen is just teasing him, but it sounds all too serious to his liking, his glare shows Owen exactly what he thought of the –in the captains mind- inappropriate suggestion. 

“What? He is not hard on the eyes,” Owen defends innocently; before a mischievous grin splits his face “and I am curious as to what makes him such a great shag,” he adds in a tone so lewd it reminds Jack of John Hart when he called Ianto ‘eye candy’.

“What makes you believe he is?” Jack challenges, bristling at the implications Owen is making, his tone low and terse. 

“The fact that you haven’t dropped him like an old sock is proof enough,” the Welsh doctor says simply.

Jack glares.

“You and I know you never stick it in the same hole more than twice, a handful of times if they are really good or clingers hard to get rid of. But not tea boy, he has you coming back time and time again. He must be amazing, is he all moans and groans or is he a screamer? He likes you to go at him for hours driving him slowly mad, or does he like you to take him hard and fast like a rodeo?” Owen taunts, his voice husky, the look on his eyes predatory as if he could see Ianto doing all those things right then and there. 

It takes all of Jack’s self-control not to fall for the rise and not punch Owen’s face inside out. 

“You are not his type,” the immortal says confidently and menacingly. 

“No, I suppose I’m not; he shags with you after all,” he says standing and walking to the office door then he looks back and shrugs “ still nothing two pints of beer and a Red Bull vodka can’t work around,” he adds cockily with a wink and a grin leaving a stunned and annoyed Jack behind. 

A few hours of thinking –sulking- on a roof top later, Jack goes to Tosh. The tech geek is sitting at her desk working in some program or other; she’s the only one left in, Owen and Gwen have gone home for the day. 

“Hey Tosh, I was wondering if you, by any chance, know Ianto’s address?” the captain tries nonchalantly. 

“I do,” the Asian woman replies apprehensively. 

“I need to talk to him in person, and as you know he won’t be in for a while…” why does he sound like a kid making up an excuse?

To her credit Tosh gives him the address without reprimands other than to herself, as she dictates the address she mutters she shouldn’t be giving out personal information. 

“It’s not wrong Tosh; he shouldn’t have left it out of his personal file. I need to know this things in case of emergencies and all that,” he assures her, another excuse to cover up the fact that he hadn’t care enough to ask, nor observant enough to notice in the first place. 

“Jack, I know it’s not my place but, you are not going to reprimand him again, are you?” she asks shyly, her nervous glance darting around to anything but Jack’s face. 

Jack smiles at the solidarity. “No Tosh, I just need to clear some points with him.” She seems to think it over a moment, biting her lips, then something clicks in her mind, Jack can see it and her demeanor changes completely. 

“You know Jack, of all of us he is the most devoted to you and to the team, even or more so after Lisa. He saved me at the Beacons, even with no field experience he did what he had to so I could escape and he almost died for it. When Mary and the pendant…” she takes off her glasses, her slanted eyes focus on the captain’s blue ones with steady resolve. “I heard his thoughts, he never asked and I never told anyone, it was not my place; but I can tell you he was not well, far from it. Still he found it in himself to comfort me, even when he couldn’t console himself.”

Jack can see the sympathy in her eyes; it had been a very trying time for the team’s dynamics when they discovered the quiet Japanese woman had heard their thoughts and secrets. 

“He understood me; it was the first time he took me to his flat. Ianto made me the most delicious and spoiling cup of coffee,” a sad but grateful smile tugs at her lips as she recalls the found memory. “And then he apologized to me, Jack. He said he was sorry, that he had wanted to help me save Mary from Torchwood, but that just like Lisa it couldn’t be done and that he was sorry I had to go through something like that. He even let me cry all over his favorite suit the night Tommy went back. I can’t imagine runny makeup and snot are easy to clean off silk ties.”

“I am aware of his selflessness and kindness, Tosh,” the pseudo American says.

“It’s not just that,” she says a little exasperated. “You two have much more in common than you realize. He is not afraid to be the bad guy for the greater good; he will do what has to be done when no one else will. He shot Owen to defend your command. He stood queer barbs from a sassy clerk to get Gwen’s wedding dress. He was so worried about us and angry at himself when we got trapped with the alien wale he stunned a man point blank between the eyes.”

Jack looks surprised, clearly there had been some editing done in Ianto’s official report. “Why angry at himself though?” he asks not understanding the logic behind that. 

“He believed it is his fault it got out of hand, that if he had been more careful we wouldn’t have been discovered and Rhys wouldn’t have been shot. If he had reacted faster, or subdued the tugs better, the wale wouldn’t have been shot in the struggle and not gotten loose, and it wouldn’t have forced Owen to kill the poor thing. He knows how much Owen hated it and gave him special coffee for a month as an apology,” she explains shaking her head in dismay. 

“But it wasn’t like that, the plan was half assed, it was bound to go wrong, it was no one’s fault,” Jack says like it’s the most absurd thing he has ever heard.

“Have you told him that?” she asks point blank. “The point is, Jack, he would never do anything to endanger the team or the organization; even if it means breaking some rules or some heads including your own. You should have more faith in his reasoning and actions. He more than anyone is on your side,” 

Then the moment is lost and Tosh reverts to her introverted quiet self and gives Jack shy, embarrassed smile. Jack smiles reassuringly back and sends her home for the day, not without giving her a peck on the cheek and a soft ‘thank you’ before he watches her depart trough the Cog Wheel. She is such a sweet girl, Ianto is lucky to have her friendship, as she is to have his. 

When Jack arrives at Ianto’s flat he is surprised to see Gwen exiting the apartment. She stands at the portico, Ianto holding the door for her. Their demeanor is not tense, if only a bit awkward but always polite as they chat for a bit. So Jack doesn’t think they’ve had a fall out hopefully. To the captain’s surprise Gwen stands on her tip toes and gives Ianto a quick peck on the cheek, he smiles albeit shyly as she leaves and he closes the door. The Welshwoman spots the conspicuous black SUV and makes a beeline for it. 

“Fancy finding you here,” she says conversationally leaning in through the rolled down window. 

“I could say the same thing. How’d you found his place?” he says a bit brusquely.

“Same way you did, Tosh,” she replies flippantly and climbs into the vehicle. 

“What were you doing in there? Why’d you see him?” he asks.

Gwen regards him with a raised brow, and then she shrugs. “He rang Rhys at work. He wanted to check on me he said, but he couldn’t because he is suspended. They met for lunch –did you know they are mates, ‘cause I sure didn’t- Ianto apologized to Rhys, for hurting me he told him. When Rhys told me I thought it odd, it’s not like he doesn’t have my number, so why call Rhys and not me. So I figure we needed to talk and that I owed him my thanks and an apology. Since he was avoiding me at least by phone I believed it was best to discuss things with him in person. Bless him he was so ashamed of himself,” 

“Ashamed? Why?” 

“He went against you to do what he believed was right, what he thought was the right course of action; you made him second guess himself,” 

Jack is not sure if the statement is accusatory or not. 

“But I agree with him Jack and I am grateful he thought me strong enough to understand the importance of Flat Holm. And after the shock I do understand Jack, what you and Ianto do for those poor people.” 

Jack is relieved, here is the Gwen he knows, the strong cheerful woman not the sad despondent girl that came back from the island; relieved to see that glimmer in her eyes when she looks at him. The one that says he is a hero to her; tells him he’s back in the good grace of her worshiping pedestal. And he realizes what Ianto had meant about his sensibilities being hurt. 

“I want to be part of it, like Ianto is. Now that I understand what is needed to be done I want to help. It’s too heartbreaking a task for just the two of you,” she says and there is compassion in her tone, not only for the rift victims, but for Jack and Ianto for dealing with the horrors alone. 

Jack nods “I will discuss it with Ianto. I’m sure he will find a way to include you in the process, he will be grateful to have you involved,” 

“He already did” she says but doesn’t elaborate.

“Great foresight on his part, huh? He knows everything doesn’t he?” the captain jokes.

Gwen laughs and climbs out of the SUV. “He also knows something else,” 

“Oh, what is that?” he asks intrigued. 

“He knows you are here,” she announces with a rueful smile and walks away.

Well time to man up, drop all pretenses and find out what is truly underneath. Jack swears to himself, damn conspicuous, flashy SUV.

A/N: Chapter’s title song is Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men


	9. I Really Want you

It takes Jack another twenty minutes to conjure up the balls to exit the vehicle and walk up to the front door. All through the short walk he debates if he should soldier on or just turn tail and run. He even turns around and walks a few passes back to the S.U.V before forcing himself on with the self-appointed task. As he reaches the door, it opens before he had even processed the thought of knocking. 

An amused looking Ianto holds the door and regards him with an expectant raised eyebrow.   
“Took you long enough,” the statement has an underlying taunting quality to it.

The captain laughs nervously. “You did know I was here,” he says conversationally, trying to cover the fact that he is caught off guard.

“It’s hard to miss,” Ianto replies looking pointedly at the flashing blue lights of the Land Rover. “And Tosh rang,” he adds with a smile.

Jack gives him a withering glare, “I should’ve known,” he grumbles.

“Yes, you should’ve. How long where you sitting out there anyway, an hour? I was about to call your mobile and ask to you to make up your mind. The creepy stalker act is scaring the neighbours. Now you want to come in, or you’d rather stay out here and fret some more until elderly Mrs Gallegan calls the police,” he pauses, “Or seeks her legion of cats on you,” he adds.

The deadpan is so flawless the captain isn’t sure the archivist is joking; he decides not to risk it and quickly accepts the invitation. He steps in and the younger man relieves him of his Grey Coat, hanging it carefully on the coat rack next to the door. Ianto moves further into the flat, Jack trailing behind him a bit awkwardly, looking around curiously; for all the times the tea boy has been in Jack’s personal quarters down the manhole, the captain has never been to Ianto’s before. 

The apartment is small but not uncomfortably so, much more modest than Owen’s spacious apartment or Tosh’s modern flat. It’s composed of a compact vestibule, a living room, a kitchenette\ dining room, and a hall he assumes leads to the bedroom and en-suit. It is practical and ideal for a bachelor, if a little on the Spartan side. It looks homely but it doesn’t feel lived in, the atmosphere speaks of a tenant that is hardly ever home. 

He follows Ianto into the kitchenette; the younger man gestures at a stool, inviting the older man to sit down if he’d like; while he heads straight to the coffee machine and starts to brew a fresh batch of coffee, without wasting time in offering. There are two mugs in the sink already; it looks like Gwen was given a respite from their coffee diet too, Owen will seethe with jealousy. 

Jack observes him, noting the difference between Ianto in the Hub and Ianto at home. It looks like when at home the tea boy favours a more casual wear. In a suit, Ianto is dressed to kill, but there is a casual sexiness to a raglan shirt and a pair of baggy, ripped, washed out jeans, the legs so long that even rolled up the hems pool and drag around his bare feet. 

Ianto feels Jack’s eyes on him and turns around to look at the staring captain with an arch brow. Jack grins unabashed at being caught ‘apprising’ and Ianto rolls his eyes going back to brewing, mumbling about leering old man. 

In a few minutes Jack is presented with a cup filled with delicious, hot, dark liquid caffeine. He inhales its enticing aroma and eagerly takes a sip; making a small sound of contentment even as the scalding coffee burns his tongue. 

Ianto shakes his head in amusement. “So to what do I owe the pleasure, Sir?” he inquirers, politely but firmly encouraging Jack to reveal the reason for his impromptu visit. 

“I, uh…,” he cleared his throat, “That is… I needed to talk to you,” the captain says, it sounds stern and forceful, even to his ears. 

The Welshman looks at him expectantly. “About what?” he presses, taking a sip of his own cup, leaning a hip on the counter behind him, to face Jack perched on a stool across the island kitchen bench. Even if his posture is laxed, his features are closed off in a guarded expression. 

The pseudo American heaves a loud sigh “I wanted to apologies,” he finally forces the words out.

The archivist looks at him like he had grown a second head and the captain hides behind his mug. However Ianto isn’t at all impressed with the seemingly monumental effort it takes for the older man to say it; as far as he is concern a sincere apology shouldn’t be so taxing. 

“What part in specific are you apologizing for? Just to be clear,” his tone clipped with sarcasm feigning curiosity. 

The 51st century man fixes him with a disbelieving glare; the younger man however isn’t fazed by it and regards him calmly, if not expectantly. Jack sighs again and relents.

“Fine!” he snaps “I am sorry for all of it. For not listening to you, for arguing with you, for overprotecting Gwen, for dumping Flat Holmes on you alone, for not trusting your judgement,” he lists his faults in an explosive but sincere rant, his booming voice loosing volume and strength with every statement “… for running you out,” he finally admits in a defeated tone. 

Ianto looks at him perplexed, why the man makes it so hard to stay angry at him. He wants to stay mad, Jack had insulted and humiliated him in their last argument, and though Ianto hadn’t rose to the bait, hadn’t acknowledge the stinging words, they had hurt none the less. When Tosh rang to tell him Jack might drop by, Ianto had been gathering up an arsenal of verbal lashings he had restrained from throwing in the man’s face when he walked out of the office four days ago. Now though, he couldn’t find it in himself to do it.

“I’m sorry that it escalated to this,” he relents. “But I’m not sorry for my actions, you have to understand you left me with no choice; you are not the most reasonable person to deal with,” he clarifies the source of his remorse. 

“I know, I know. I’m too damn stubborn to admit I made a mistake, but now I’m telling you Ianto, I was wrong and I’m sorry,” the captain amends truly contrite. 

The tea boy nods and exhales slowly, his tense shoulders visibly relaxing. Tonight hasn’t been too bad; he’s had two uninvited guests and has settled things with both parties involved in his stressful predicament. 

They drink their coffee in companionable silence for a while. “Gwen tells me you have come up with a way of getting her involved with Flat Holms,” Jack breaks the silence. 

The younger man nods, “I didn’t come up with anything; there is enough work to go around,” it’s not an accusation, just a statement. 

Jack manages not to cringe guiltily, and limits to agreeing. “I know you’ve been doing more than your fair share, but I think we can fix that,”

“You mean about Gwen telling Owen and Tosh,” Ianto assumes correctly. “I thought you’d be against it. I was preparing for another gruelling confrontation and maybe even a dose of retcon,”

“I’m still reluctant, but I realize it shouldn’t have been a secret to begin with,” the ex-time agent admits. “Besides, the archives won’t survive much longer without you,” he half jokes. 

Ianto blanches, “How bad is it?”

“Don’t get alarmed, I spared both you and Owen, and let him off the filing duty; it’s mainly Tosh going in there, she is the only one who has a slight incline on how to work your filing system,” Jack assures him. 

“Please, tell me I’m no longer suspended?” he asks and if there is a slight pleading tone in his voice well his carefully filed archive is at stake. 

Jack laughs, “Yes you can come back anytime you want, though I think you should take the time off. You are always at the Hub; a little break would do you some good,” 

“Ten days alone staring at the god-awful out dated wallpaper? I’ll pass. I don’t even own a telly. Working for Torchwood doesn’t allow time for cultivating hobbies, nor for a very successful social life,” the Welshman says in derision, collecting the now empty mugs he turns to the sink. “Tonight is the most visits I’ve had since moving back from London,” 

“Speaking of failing social lives, I hear you are good friends with Rhys,” if there is a slight hiss in his tone when he pronounces the name, Jack feigns innocence and Ianto doesn’t notices or chooses to ignore it. 

“Why is that so surprising, he is a nice guy,” he says in a non-committal tone, turning on the sink tab and soaping up a dishcloth. 

“Ha, a nice guy,” the mocking sarcasm is evident in his tone. “He is a clueless, simple minded, jock head. How do you put up with him?” 

“Funny, he asked me the same thing about you,” Ianto dead panned, he doesn’t need to turn around to know that Jack is glaring at him; he can picture the captain clearly in his mind. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” the pseudo American asks coldly. 

“Just that you two have more in common that either of you wants to admit,” the tea boy shrugs casually as he washes the coffee mugs.

“Oh, how we are so alike, pray tell?” the captain demands. 

The unwarranted affront in Jack’s voice starts to irritate Ianto, if it bothers him so much then why did he brought it up? “You are both pig headed, insecure, possessive idiots. You even like the same type,” the younger answers simply, the lilt of his accent marked by annoyance. The last part an obvious jab referring to both men chasing the same skirt, namely Gwen. 

“What type is that?!” Jack is beyond offended, and takes the underlying insinuation far and beyond its original meaning. “Oh I see, you two are very well acquainted hu? Tell me, how well do you know each other; does he know you in the biblical sense like I do?” 

It’s Ianto’s turn to splutter indignantly “What the hell?” he turns around now, and sure enough Jack is glaring at him, brow furrowed, nose drills flaring, lips set in a thin hard line, his arms crossed over his puffed chest, the muscles of his jaw tight like a coil. The Welshman is not fazed and glares back just as intently. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You tell me,” Jack challenges “You wrote his numbers in your diary, or is he too prudish and inadequate to go against your stopwatch and measuring tape.” The next thing the captain knows a dripping wet dishcloth smacks him in the face.

“Stop! Stop right there, or so help me God, Jack!” Ianto yells infuriated, gesticulating with an accusatory pointer finger. “I don’t know what brought these ridiculous accusations; but if that is all you have to say then you can let yourself out the door, don’t let it hit your ass on the way out and I’ll see you in ten days.” 

They glare at each other a few heart beats longer. Ianto is the first to look away with a heavy sigh. Shaking his head he turns around bracing against the sink with a white-knuckle grip, cursing in welsh under his breath. How did this happen? Why is it so easy for them to get into these stupid fights? Why do the silly arguments get so out of control? 

As soon as the anger had come it vanishes, Jack feels ridiculous for even thinking those things, let alone having voiced them. Rhys is obviously not into men, and the only male Ianto has only ever showed interest in is Jack. It was a ridiculously farfetched, unfounded accusation, totally out of line. This is not why he had come here tonight; it was not to fight with Ianto. He had come to apologize, to show he has a deeper understanding of the reasoning and emotions behind the younger man’s actions. He lets out and explosive sigh. 

“Ianto, I’m sorry I didn’t mean any of it,” he expresses sincerely.

“I don’t want to keep fighting with you Jack,” he sounds weary, as he turns to face Jack again. 

“I know, neither do I and believe me I didn’t come here looking for a fight,” the ex-time agent says almost pleadingly. “I don’t know what came over me, that was totally uncalled for, I was out of line,” he admits albeit begrudgingly. “I just… I dunno,” he looks for words to excuse his behaviour. 

“I understand Jack, you feel Rhys is treading on your toes, but he is not,” Jack gives him a sceptical look. “Well, not on purpose. At least I don’t think so,” he amends somewhat sheepishly. 

“He just rubs me the wrong way, besides I thought he hated all things Torchwood, staff included,” the older man reasons.

Ianto rolls his eyes, “It’s not like we are best mates, but we can relate on some levels. And he doesn’t hate everyone who works at Torchwood, he is quite alright with Tosh, and he’s neutral about Owen, only because he doesn’t know he had an affair with Gwen of course,” he clarifies.

“So basically his beef is only with me, he just hates my guts alone,” Jack says. “That is so unfair,” he adds indignantly. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, is not like you really care what he thinks of you. You are not the easiest person in the world Jack, and you are well aware of other men’s opinion of you…well of the men that aren’t, ah…affected by your charm and aren’t so, um… pheromones susceptible,” 

Jack grins openly and waggles his brows at him. 

Ianto glares “Pig,” it makes the captain laugh. “All in all I’m the last frontier,” Jack looks at him puzzled, “Don’t get me wrong, he is sympathetic to my plight of having to put up with you,” he teases. “But I think the way he really sees it is that if you are shagging me, if I shake my ass at you and keep you accordingly occupied and sated; then you won’t put the moves on Gwen. He is afraid that if you do go after her she won’t say no. It’s a fear I can relate to; so we connect in some levels, misery loves company and all that nonsense,” he explains as best as he can from where his relation with Rhys stems from. 

He is grateful Jack doesn’t try to save face. That he doesn’t lie saying he’d never do that, or that it would never happen. ‘Cause none of them can say that for sure. If things had been different; if Gwen had gone to Jack instead of Owen after Brecon Beacons, who is to say he wouldn’t have fallen into bed with her then. There is no reassurance that if he hadn’t been shagging with Ianto more or less steadily, the captain wouldn’t have stormed the wedding and stolen the bride. 

But those are pointless what ifs that never happened. What Jack is sure of is that things happened as they had and at this point in time he can’t find it in himself to wish it had been any different. 

“Oh so that’s how it is,” the ex-time agent tries to lift the mood “I’m sure you did your best to reassure him that you are more than capable to keep me distracted from jumping his missus,” he says with a grin and a teasing arched brow.

Ianto laughs humourlessly “At the time I wasn’t confident in my abilities to keep your attention; physically or otherwise,” he admits eyes cast down. “I was pretty sure I had ruined what little reconciliation we had managed the other night,” 

Jack frowns and without thought he stands up and walks around the island bench. He reaches for Ianto, his large hands tilting up the young man’s chin. 

“You didn’t ruin anything, you gave me a wakeup call, put things in the right perspective for me. I needed some sense knocked into me and as always you delivered accordingly. Thank you and I’m sorry I made it so hard on you,” Jack says sincerely, punctuating his apology by placing a chaste kiss on Ianto’s lips. 

At the contact all the hurt, the anger, the frustration melts away. Ianto’s arms wind up around Jack’s neck, and the older man takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. 

They both moan into the kiss, the reverberations echoing down their throats, it makes Jack grin and Ianto shivers. Just what it is about this man, the archivist wonders. Why is it that his life only seems worthwhile when he is in the older man’s presence? Why is it that a smile from Jack is the only persuasion he needs to do about anything? Why is it that a touch feels like the best reward he can receive for his troubles? The 51st century man has so much power over him, it frightens him.

When he is with Jack he is never in control, he always hands the reins to the older man. He trusts the captain implicitly and had been content with surrendering himself to Jack. Now, in light of the recent events he can’t help but wonder if he has even a modicum of such power over Jack, is he needed as he needs, and is he trusted as he trusts?

Jack’s relief at settling their dispute is now melting under the heat of passion, he revels in the feel of Ianto’s mouth opening under his questing tongue, the hardness pressed against his own erection, the taunt globes of Ianto’s arse under his kneading fingers. He is mentally debating whether to lift the younger man onto the counter behind him or climb with him onto the island table on the other side, when he feels something shift in Ianto. 

The eager reciprocations lose their enthusiasm, Jack reasons that maybe the tea boy wants to take it slow; that is fine by him. Just as he tones down to a more languid pace Ianto’s approach changes again. He starts to push Jack’s tongue back, trying to turn tables and be the one to plunder the captain’s mouth. Jack instinctively counters back, playfully parrying and blocking the insistent appendage. A frustrated growl is the only warning he gets before Ianto turns them around, pressing him against the counter. A nagging feeling itches at the back of the captain’s mind, even as he uses his advantage in weight and height to drive the archivist back until he has the slighter man against the island table, bearing his weight forward Ianto has no option but to tilt his torso back and Jack gains the upper hand. He thrusts his tongue down Ianto’s throat and grinds his hips against the tea boy’s groin, dominating every aspect of the encounter with a triumphant grin. 

The victory is short lived, however. Suddenly Ianto breaks away from the kiss and ducks out of Jack’s reach. 

“Ianto?” he asks hesitantly, puzzled as to what is happening. 

The younger man’s brow is furrow in a deep frown, panting slightly; he stares at the pseudo American with an apprising, almost searching look. But there is something else in his eyes, something raw, almost pleading. The slip is only fleeting, in the blink of an eye the gaze hardens into stern determination. 

“Trust me,” he says in a passion roughened voice.

It’s a question, it’s a demand, it’s a plea, and so many other things that he can’t begin to name. It has so many meanings that it involves every level of their interactions. It’s a simple request that Jack finds he can’t refuse and he doesn’t want to. He had promised to be more receptive, to take into account Ianto’s needs. Now, he realized, that commitment has to be done in and out of the sack and if Ianto wants to start to reassert his self-confidence in bed, well Jack is more than happy to oblige. 

“I do,” Jack replies simply with a firm nod, his eyes never wavering from Ianto’s gaze. It’s an answer, it’s a compromise, it’s a promise, and it’s a yield.

The archivist approaches him hesitantly. This time Jack lets Ianto set the pace. When the younger man’s tongue probes his lips, he parts them without resistance, when Ianto’s arms wrap around him, he melts into the embrace. The willing surrender make the tea boy whimper in appreciation. 

The 51st century man lets himself be guided through the flat into the bedroom and undressed. When Ianto pushes him, he falls into the bed without protest watching the younger man divest himself. 

The archivist climbs over him; his touches are sure, steady, dominant, but not demanding. With startling clarity, Jack recognizes the intent behind the ministrations. The invading kisses, the insistent thigh wedged between his legs, the erection rutting against his hip, the solicitous hand that delves into the cleft of his arse. They are the caresses of a lover that seeks to claim his bed mate and for the first time in a hundred odd years Jack lets himself be taken.

Ianto hadn’t been the penetrating partner during intercourse, since Lisa; his only lover afterwards has been Jack and the older man always topped. The Welshman had almost forgotten how it feels to thrust into unbearable heat, to be gripped in the overwhelming tightness of rippling muscles. To have a lover’s legs wrapped around his waists urging him on, to feel nails scraping down his back as the one he thrusts into seeks to draw him in closer, deeper; to wrench passionate cries from his counterpart, as he drives him into pleasurable abandon. He has forgotten what is like to spill his semen into the living confines of another’s body, instead of being milked by rough hands. To have his seed awash a thrumming passage, instead of cooling into a crust over his own belly. 

It was an overwhelming sensual stimulation, but more than the physical relief, the mental elation was more gratifying. Jack had trusted him, had allowed himself to be in a vulnerable position and had placed his comfort and pleasure in Ianto’s hands. The mere thought of it ignites Ianto’s libido anew. Before any of them has climbed down from their orgasmic haze the tea boy starts to rekindle their desire, without intermission before the second act. 

The experience is a reawakening for Jack, he is not a virgin in any aspect of sex, and he is far from celibate; but it’s been over a century since the allowed another man to breach him. The only man he had been willing to be so vulnerable for was the Doctor, but the time lord had not been interested in getting into Jack’s pants, nor to let the pseudo American into his, despite the ex-time agent’s best efforts. 

If he had recalled that being stretched and filled felt so good, that having his prostate rammed into until he exploded was so mind blowing. If he had remembered how liberating it was to just lie down and hang on while he was being ploughed into the mattress, he would’ve spread his legs for Ianto long before now. 

The tea boy never ceased to amaze him. Up until then Ianto has been a subdued lover; not that he was passive, quite the contrary he always gave as good as he’s got. He returns every touch, every kiss, every thrust he counters with one of his own, but he had always allowed the captain to lead. 

Now though, Jack has learned that when Ianto holds the reins it’s all he can do to hang on tight and keep up. The archivist is as considerate and efficient on both sides of the scale, as he took Jack he was ever aware of the older man’s comfort and pleasure. He had been dominant but not rough or demanding. The whole act had been more about asserting his equality to Jack, rather than subduing the ex-time agent. 

A point he drove home, to Jack’s amazement, in their second go round where Ianto proved he is as good as topping from the bottom as he is at the actual pitching. Even with the captain buried to the hilt inside him, the younger man’s control never wavered. The pace, the depth, the time of their climax, he commanded it all. As long as Jack was willing to relinquish, the archivist could control the reins even while lying flat on his back. 

A/N: Chapter’s title song is I Really Want You by James Blunt


	10. I Know Him So Well

Everyone is relieved with Ianto’s return, being welcomed into work with a cup of steaming Ianto’s special blend first thing in the morning is like coffee heaven for the java addicts of the Hub. Even Owen, who comes in a foul mood, mellows down once the mug is placed in his hand. 

Ianto spends the days restoring the contained chaos that has become of the Hub during the four days he was out. He shudders imagining how the place would’ve looked like if he had stayed gone the whole ten days. While during the nights he pursues more pleasurable tasks down in Jack’s manhole- pun intended. It’s the third day since his return and he has yet to go home once. 

This evening the Hub is deserted, today he presented the first of a series of briefings about Flat Holm; it had been limited to its founding, its history and a detailed report of the functions the facility provides for the Rift victims. It had been shocking for all, even Gwen who still knows next to nothing about the place, but even more so for Owen and Tosh. Knowing it was a lot to take in; Jack sent the team home early, only Ianto staid in. 

The tea boy makes a last round around the Hub, double checking that everything is as it should be. The exercise is pointless, but it gives him the time to stall, to gather up his courage for what he is about to do. With one last glance around and finding nothing to distract him, Ianto shrugs on his coat, takes his keys and heads for the captain’s office. The door is open and he raps his knuckles on the frame to announce his presence. 

Jack is hunched over the desk, pen in hand, brows furrow and lips purse as he works on the ever hated stack of paperwork. He has been filling form after form, writing report after report since he sent everyone home three hours ago. He has actually made good progress in tackling the stack of papers he usually avoids like the plague. When he looks up at the sight of Ianto standing at the door he drops the pen, paperwork forgotten in hopes of getting a cup of coffee or better yet a round of sex; if he is lucky probably both, though not necessarily in that order. However his expectations crash when he notices there is no tray with coffee mugs, nor a suggestive smile on the tea boy’s face. Instead the young man is wearing his coat and his keys dangle in his hand. Jack hides the disappointment quickly by flashing an amicable grin. 

“You are done for the night?” he asks casually. 

“Yes, I thought I’d be heading home. I’ve ran out of clean suits and I might need to clean out the fridge,” Ianto says, a subtle reminder that he has spent the last three days and two nights at the Hub. 

“You do that, I’ve seen alien life forms evolve from spoiled perishables inside neglected refrigerators,” he says in mock seriousness. 

Ianto rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to have the team rush into my flat to kill the cheese that has mutated into some form of vicious, poisonous alien goo that scurries around attacking people’s pets,” he deadpans with a poker face. 

The sarcastic remark makes Jack roar with laughter, “Have a good night Ianto,” he says when he has managed to suppress the laughs to sporadic giggles. 

“Actually, Sir, I was wondering…” he pauses awkwardly. 

That caught Jack’s attention and sobers him instantly. For the first time since the archivist walked in, he notices the tense shoulders, the shuffling feet, the down cast shifting eyes. He realizes the Welshman is not only nervous about something, but serious about it, if the reverting to ‘Sir’ is any indication. The 51st century man looks at him expectantly, encouraging the tea boy to continue by giving him his undivided attention. 

Ianto licks his lips and plunders forward. “I, uh, I wanted to ask you if maybe, since the Rift has been pretty quiet, if you’d like to come home with me tonight, Jack?” he proposes trying to sound casual and not too hopeful. 

The pseudo American is touched by the gesture and amused by his attempt at nonchalance. But he can see his prolonged silence makes Ianto fidget, insecure of the political correctness of his forwardness. Making up his mind- really there is nothing to consider- he stands and grabs his Grey coat. 

“Since there might be mutant life forms in your fridge you might need back up, and how about we pick up some take-out on the way?” he says, casually accepting the offer. 

Ianto smiles relieved, “No bullet holes in the woodwork. Italian or Chinese?”

“I was thinking Thai, but I haven’t had Italian in a while,”

“I don’t like Thai…” 

They leave together, bantering about dinner. 

They decided on Italian, after a quiet, pleasant dinner of pasta and cheap wine; Ianto invites Jack to make himself at home, pointing him in the direction of the bathroom in case the captain wants to freshen up. Meanwhile, the archivist stores away the left overs and discards the perishables in his fridge, no point keeping them if he is not going to be home anyways. He had bought them to stock up for what would’ve been two weeks holed up at home. Now that he is back to his regular working schedule, he’ll be in his flat two nights a week, tops. He washes the few dishes and glasses they used and checks that the door and windows are locked before going to find what the wayward captain is up to. 

Wandering into his room Ianto is met with the sight of a nude Jack lying in his bed; the pseudo American is lying on his stomach over the bed sheets, leafing through a book he found on the nightstand. The older man’s body seems to undulate slightly, almost absently rutting, sensually enjoying the smooth coolness of the sheets against his skin. Ianto leans on the door jab appreciating the view.

“You’re starting without me?” he asks, startling Jack. 

“You did tell me to make myself at home,” he replies, rolling onto his back he reclines against the headboard giving the younger man a full frontal view. Wearing nothing but a devil’s grin, Jack is totally unabashed by his nudity. Even when Ianto’s gaze rakes over his skin with a glint of hunger, the 51st century man doesn’t bat an eyelash. He just lays there almost preening under the attention. 

It makes Ianto roll his eyes, “You are like a peacock,” he grouses. 

Jack laughs heartedly, amused by the image before him. Ianto has removed his suit jacket and vest, the tie hangs around his neck undone, the shirt is un-tucked, sleeves rolled up, and he discarded his shoes and socks at some point through dinner. The rumpled attire makes him look younger than his scarce years. The pout on his lips and the scold on his brow make him look like a teen dressed for grandaunt Matilda’s Sunday party. Still as cute as the juvenile appearance is, Jack prefers to see the fully grown man’s body beneath it. 

“Just take those off and get in here,” Jack’s voice is a low husk, as he gestures to –in his opinion- Ianto’s overdressed state. 

He half expects a witty comeback, but to his surprise, the archivist offers none. Instead he walks fully into the room and slowly sheds what he’s still wearing of his suit. Jack doesn’t offer assistance, content with watching how the expanses of well-known skin are revealed to him once again. No matter how many times he’s seen, touched, tasted the younger man, he never tiers of it. Not of the darkness bleached skin, so pale due to spending his days underground away from the sunlight and from covering his body from neck to toes with well-tailored suits. Not of the lean muscular build, slightly toned but by no means ripped; nor of the soft hair lightly dusting his forearms up to the biceps and on his legs fading to almost nothing at the thighs, and not forget the thin trail running down from navel to a closely trimmed pubis. Now Jack gets to enjoy all of it again and he finds that the eager anticipation of their first time has not diminished in the list. 

Now Ianto is standing as naked as the day he was born, and as hard as a teen peeking at a skin mag for the first time. He can feel Jack’s eyes rake over his body, drinking in the sight of him in the most primal and base expression of his self. His own eyes rove over the ex-time agent lying in his bed and he is awed once again at how someone as ordinary as him has managed to catch the attention of someone like Jack. The man is sheer perfection and is right here for Ianto to have, as much, as often and as however he wants to have it. And he wants to have it all, from the caramel sun-kissed skin, to the well-defined, rippling muscles of that barrel chest and broad back; and most of all the manhood jutting proudly from the clean-shaven groin. To him it’s still as nerve wrecking and thrilling as that first night when Jack accepted his brazen insinuations.

The mutual visual appraisal ends when their eyes meet blue on blue; Jack’s warm summer sky gaze locks with Ianto’s iceberg cool stare. They don’t break contact even as Ianto moves forward to the foot of the bed and climbs onto it, crawling over to Jack on hands and knees. Their gazes still hold even as Jack sits up and forward, reaching to meet the younger man half-way. The stare breaks only when sight is replace by others senses coming into contact; when their skin touch, when they breathe each other’s air, when their lips clash and part to savour the taste of their mingled tongues. 

A couple of hours and go rounds later, worn and sated; they lay awake, Ianto tucked against Jack’s side, his head pillowed on the captain’s chest, the older man’s arm slung around his shoulders cradle him close. The ex-time agent’s mind drifts while his hand absently draws random patterns on Ianto’s side. 

“A quid for your thoughts,” Ianto asks in a soft, curious voice. 

Jack looks down at him, “A quid? Whatever happened to pennies, global inflation has gotten that far? It seems extremely overpriced,” he jokes.

“I was being generous, besides they don’t make ha’ pennies anymore,” the quip earns him a mock glare. 

Jack heaves a sigh, “I was thinking about Owen and Tosh, they seemed to take it rather well, the briefing I mean,” he says answering Ianto’s question. “You did well today,” he adds.

“There is still a lot more to go through, so much more to explain, lots more they need to know. Today was just an introductory crash course of sorts,”

“I know,” Jack nods his understanding as he rakes a hand through his mused hair.

“You are worried, you fear for them,” it’s not a question. 

“I know them,” Jack says in an almost imploring whine, begging to be understood. “Tosh will try to develop technologies that are beyond this age to try to assist in their care. Owen will try to find remedies for alien illnesses and injuries that human medicine can’t cure; just like Gwen tried to offer comfort that can’t grant solace. It is folly, it will tax on their good will and it will break their heart when they figure out it is not possible, this people can’t be fixed,” the captain admits, for the first time coherently voicing his concerns and fears for his underlings. 

“But they can be helped,” Ianto counters, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you are right, that place has a way of changing people,” he agrees. 

And Jack knows he is not imagining the hint of remorse on the archivist’s tone, Gwen was right, Jack has made Ianto second guess his own judgement. 

“It does, but not necessarily in a bad way,” the ex-time agent says after a long pause. “Something you said made me realize that,”

Ianto looks at him curiously, lifting his head from the captain’s chest to peer up at his face. 

“You said you led Gwen to the island to remind her that in spite everything I’m merely human. Also that you had faith she’d be fine after the initial shock, because of her natural empathy and sympathy towards others, a quality that you believe the rest of you don’t possess. But I disagree, you need to be reminded that you too are only human, that all of you do feel everything that happens, and just as deeply as she does. Only the rest of you are far more rational, you can control and hide those emotions and not be swayed by them in the crucial moments,” Jack explains. 

“Jack, we are emotionally stunned,” Ianto says but even though the pronoun is plural there is a self-deprecating tone to the statement. 

“Are you?” Jack challenges. “You comforted Tosh through her ordeal with Mary and then with Tommy, you stun-gunned a man point black between the eyes, you spoil Owen with coffee when he feels down, you picked Gwen a wedding dressed and deejay-ed her reception, you take responsibility for things that are out of your control, and pick up the pieces of us all when things fall apart. We all see this and yet we under appreciate it, but mostly because you won’t accept our gratitude,”

Ianto looks away clearly embarrassed, he can feel the blush colouring his neck and ears; leaving Jack’s side he sits up and leans on the headboard. “You’ve been talking to Tosh,” he says with a grimace. 

“She is not the only one who pointed out your finer qualities, at least she was nice about it,” the captain says in hindsight. “Owen chewed me out and Gwen chastised me,” 

“I’m sorry about that, it should’ve remained between us,” Ianto says. 

“It’s alright, it’s my fault it got so out of hand,” he reassured the tea boy. “And the little talks helped me to see things in your perspective,” he adds.

“The way I see it, Tosh needs to remember technology is used for other things than creating and dismantling weapons. Owen needs to remember his medical training is for more than to autopsy dead aliens. Just as you need to learn to share the load, Ianto, you need to be taken cared off as you’ve care for others,” he says. 

His hand reaches for the archivist. He cups the younger man’s cheek and kisses him; the gesture is more apologetic than seductive. Jack hopes to express his remorse for all the times he has failed to take care of the Welshman. When Lisa died and he left Ianto to drown alone in grief; and he let the young man bury himself in his work at the Hub, adrift in a meaningless existence. When he was injured and traumatized by cannibals and Jack didn’t even notice. The time he sidestepped and avoided to admit the hurt he had cause to the archivist when he left chasing after the Doctor. As he was blind to Ianto’s fear and guilt at being held hostage, by the butchers that held a gun to his head and the captain hadn’t batted an eyelash in worry. Then at Gwen’s wedding when he was unable to spare Ianto the humiliation caused by an asshole clerk and Jack’s own insensitive words. He wants to make amends for all of it, even if he knows it’s too little too late.

As if sensing Jack’s feelings; Ianto opens up and surrenders to the kiss in wordless acceptance of Jack’s penance for every careless actions. It’s his way of awarding him absolution.  
Jack breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together, just enjoying the quiet contentment of their closeness. Then as a thought occurs to him, a frown furrows his brow and pulls at his lips in a grimace. 

“Just don’t go out drinking with Owen, ever,” he says with a perceptible growl and a menacing glare. 

Ianto looks at him, blinking perplexed for a moment, then a loud belly laugh shakes him with mirth. He has notice the occasional lewd stare the grouchy medic sent his way from time to time, probably out of curiosity rather than real attraction. Apparently Jack is now aware of it too, and very much against it. Ianto finds it hilarious and very flattering; it’s thrilling to see Jack jealous for a change. 

The 51st century man is not amused, and when his glare does nothing to sober up the Welshman, he launches himself at the tea boy, effective pinning him under him larger frame. He silences Ianto’s snickering with a searing kiss that changes the giggles into wanton groans that have an immediate effect by stirring their loins.

From there it quickly escalates to a third go round and they fall back into the well engraved motions of intercourse. Their moves smooth and synchronized out of use and habit, after two prior rounds and three consecutive nights of shagging, there is no need for extensive preparations or foreplay. It only takes them as much time as it takes for Jack to locate the bottle of lube that went astray in the bed sheets at some point during their previous rutting. The smaller man’s legs part wide open and the captain’s hips slide forward, and it’s all the effort needed to complete their joining. There is no need to adjust to find a rhythm; they fall into step with each other immediately, they both know exactly what buttons to push to elicit the best response.

Jack exploits his knowledge of Ianto’s body to demonstrate to the tea boy why he, Jack, is the better bed partner choice. While the archivist lets it be known just why his choice is and will always be the captain, that the only man he is willing to surrender to, the only man he will ever allow to thrust into him, the only man that drives him into the throws of passion, the only man in the universe that Ianto will ever consider falling into bed with, the only man whose name he will call as he cums, is Jack’s. 

In the wee hours of the morning, feeling more sore than sated, Jack observes his young lover. Ianto is in a deep exhausted but satisfied sleep, curled up and cocooned in the 51st century man’s strong embrace. The tea boy’s arms circle his waist loosely, his even breathing ghosting over the pseudo American’s collar, their legs tangled together. And for the first time in a century Jack is content.

For once there is no longing for the Doctor, no recalling of John Heart, no craving of Gwen, and no wishing for Saraha. Jack has finally realized Ianto is all of them and more than them at once, he has no need for anyone else as long as Ianto remains his bedroom factotum. Jack can live with that, at least for as long as Ianto himself lives and that is good enough, that is as much as he can hope for, that is as much as he is willing to allow himself to indulge in, at least for now. 

They will make the most of this… relationship they have. It’s a compromise; they recognize they need each other. It’s more than a physical arrangement; they go beyond mere fuck buddies. It’s not a romantic relationship; they are not boyfriends, they are not going to marry or even live together. But they are committed to each other in a more abstract if not fundamental way. 

END

A/N: Chapter’s title song is I Know Him So Well, from the musical Chess by John Barrowman and Daniel Boys. And generally the song that inspired this whole story, to me becoming a hallmark for it. Thanks to everyone who read, commented, subscribed and left kudos in this story.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this chapter is named after the song Bed of Lies by Matchbox twenty. Every chapter will be titled after a song, I believe fits the chapter. A sound track of sorts.


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